University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

From  the  Collection  of 
Joseph  Z.  Todd 

Gift  of 
Hatherly  B.  Todd 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

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ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 
Vol.  VIII 


THE  BLACK  ARROW  Sfe  THE 
MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN 
NICHOLSON  Sfe  THE  BODY- 
SNATCHER      «       Sfe       t       % 


*  THE  NOVELS  AND 
TALES  OF  ROBERT 
LOUIS   STEVENSON 


T*HE  BLACK  ARROWS 
THE  MISADVENTURES 
OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON  % 
^  THE  BODY-SNATCHER 


SEPUBLISHED  IN 
NEW  YORK  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S 
SONS     %     %      1907     % 


Critic  on  the  Hearth  : 
No  one  but  myself  knows  what  I  have  suffered,  nor  what  my  books 
have  gained,  by  your  unsleeping  watchfulness  and  admirable  pertina- 
city. And  now  here  is  a  volume  that  goes  into  the  world  and  lacks 
your  imprimatur:  a  strange  thing  in  our  joint  lives;  and  the  reason 
of  it  stranger  still !  I  have  watched  with  interest,  with  pain,  and 
at  length  with  amusement,  your  unavailing  attempts  to  peruse  The 
Black  Arrow ;  and  I  think  I  should  lack  humour  indeed,  if  I  let  the 
occasion  slip  and  did  not  place  your  name  in  the  fly-leaf  of  the  only 
book  of  mine  that  you  have  never  read — and  never  will  read. 

That  others  may  display  more  constancy  is  still  my  hope.  The 
tale  was  written  years  ago  for  a  particular  audience  and  (I  may  say) 
in  rivalry  with  a  particular  author;  I  think  I  should  do  well  to  name 
him,  Mr.  Alfred  R.  Phillips.  It  was  not  without  its  reward  at  the 
time,  I  could  not,  indeed,  displace  Mr.  Phillips  from  his  Well-won 
priority;  but  in  the  eyes  of  readers  who  thought  less  than  nothing  of 
Treasure  Island,  The  Black  Arrow  was  supposed  to  mark  a  clear 
advance.  Those  who  read  volumes  and  those  who  read  story  papers 
belong  to  different  worlds.  The  verdict  on  Treasure  Island  was 
reversed  in  the  other  court;  I  wonder,  will  it  be  the  same  with  its 
successor? 

/?.  I.  5. 

S  ARAN  AC  Lake,  April  8,  1888. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  BLACK  ARROW i 

THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON  317 
THE  BODY-SNATCHER     , 405 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

Prologue 

PAGE 

JOHN  AMEND-ALL i 

Book  I 
THE  TWO   LADS 

CHAPTER 

I  At  the  Sign  of  the  Sun  in  Kettley 23 

II  In  the  Fen 34 

III  The  Fen  Ferry 41 

IV  A  Greenwood  Company 50 

V  "Bloody  as  the  Hunter" 60 

VI    To  the  Day's  End 70 

VII    The  Hooded  Face 79 

Book  II 
THE  MOAT   HOUSE 

I  Dick  Asks  Questions 93 

II  The  Two  Oaths 103 

III  The  Room  over  the  Chapel 112 

IV  The  Passage 120 

V  How  Dick  Changed  Sides 126 

Book  III 
MY  LORD   FOXHAM 

I    The  House  by  the  Shore 139 

II     A  Skirmish  in  the  Dark 148 

III  St.  Bride's  Cross 156 

IV  The  Good  Hope 161 

V  The  Good  Hope  (continued) 172 

VI    The  Good  Hope  (concluded) 180 

Book  IV 
THE  DISGUISE 

I    The  Den 189 

U    "In  Mine  Enemies'  House" 198 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

III  The  Dead  Spy 209 

IV  In  the  Abbey  Church 219 

V  Earl  Risingham 230 

VI    Arblaster  Again 235 

Book  V 
CROOKBACK 

I  The  Shrill  Trumpet 251 

II  The  Battle  of  Shoreby 260 

III  The  Battle  of  Shoreby  (concluded) 268 

IV  The  Sack  of  Shoreby 273 

V  Night  in  the  Woods  :  Alicia  Risingham 285 

VI  Night  in  the  Woods  (concluded):  Dick  and  Joan  .     .     .  294 

VII     Dick's  Revenge 306 

VIII    Conclusion 311 


?r> 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

I  In  which  John  Sows  the  Wind 317 

II  In  which  John  Reaps  the  Whirlwind 325 

ill  In  which  John  Enjoys  the  Harvest  Home 332 

IV  The  Second  Sowing 339 

V  The  Prodigal's  Return 346 

VI  The  House  at  Murrayfield 354 

VII  A  Tragi-Comedy  in  a  Cab 368 

VIII  Singular  Instance  of  the  Utility  of  Pass-keys  ....  380 

IX  In   which   Mr.  Nicholson  accepts  the   Principle  of  an 

Allowance 393 

THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

THE  BODY-SNATCHER 405 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

A  TALE  OF  THE  TWO  ROSES 
PROLOGUE 

JOHN  AMEND-ALL 

ON  a  certain  afternoon,  in  the  late  springtime,  the 
bell  upon  Tunstall  Moat  House  was  heard  ringing 
at  an  unaccustomed  hour.  Far  and  near,  in  the  forest 
and  in  the  fields  along  the  river,  people  began  to  desert 
their  labours  and  hurry  towards  the  sound ;  and  in  Tun- 
stall hamlet  a  group  of  poor  country-folk  stood  wonder- 
ing at  the  summons. 

Tunstall  hamlet  at  that  period,  in  the  reign  of  old  King 
Henry  VL,  wore  much  the  same  appearance  as  it  wears 
to-day.  A  score  or  so  of  houses,  heavily  framed  with 
oak,  stood  scattered  in  a  long  green  valley  ascending 
from  the  river.  At  the  foot,  the  road  crossed  a  bridge, 
and  mounting  on  the  other  side,  disappeared  into  the 
fringes  of  the  forest  on  its  way  to  the  Moat  House,  and 
further  forth  to  Holywood  Abbey.  Half-way  up  the 
village,  the  church  stood  among  yews.  On  every  side 
the  slopes  were  crowned  and  the  view  bounded  by  the 
green  elms  and  greening  oak-trees  of  the  forest. 

Hard  by  the  bridge,  there  was  a  stone  cross  upon  a 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

knoll,  and  here  the  group  had  collected  —  half  a  dozen 
women  and  one  tall  fellow  in  a  russet  smock  —  dis- 
cussing what  the  bell  betided.  An  express  had  gone 
through  the  hamlet  half  an  hour  before,  and  drunk  a  pot 
of  ale  in  the  saddle,  not  daring  to  dismount  for  the  hurry 
of  his  errand;  but  he  had  been  ignorant  himself  of 
what  was  forward,  and  only  bore  sealed  letters  from 
Sir  Daniel  Brackley  to  Sir  Oliver  Gates,  the  parson,  who 
kept  the  Moat  House  in  the  master's  absence. 

But  now  there  was  the  noise  of  a  horse;  and  soon, 
out  of  the  edge  of  the  wood  and  over  the  echoing 
bridge,  there  rode  up  young  Master  Richard  Shelton, 
Sir  Daniel's  ward.  He,  at  the  least,  would  know,  and 
they  hailed  him  and  begged  him  to  explain.  He  drew 
bridle  willingly  enough  —  a  young  fellow  not  yet  eigh- 
teen, sun-browned  and  grey-eyed,  in  a  jacket  of  deer's 
leather,  with  a  black  velvet  collar,  a  green  hood  upon 
his  head,  and  a  steel  cross-bow  at  his  back.  The  ex- 
press, it  appeared,  had  brought  great  news.  A  battle 
was  impending.  Sir  Daniel  had  sent  for  every  man 
that  could  draw  a  bow  or  carry  a  bill  to  go  post-haste 
to  Kettley,  under  pain  of  his  severe  displeasure ;  but  for 
whom  they  were  to  fight,  or  of  where  the  battle  was 
expected,  Dick  knew  nothing.  Sir  Oliver  would  come 
shortly  himself,  and  Bennet  Hatch  was  arming  at  that 
moment,  for  he  it  was  who  should  lead  the  party. 

*'lt  is  the  ruin  of  this  kind  land,"  a  woman  said. 
**If  the  barons  live  at  war,  ploughfolk  must  eat  roots." 

"Nay,"  said  Dick,  **  every  man  that  follows  shall 
have  sixpence  a  day,  and  archers  twelve." 

*Mf  they  live,"  returned  the  woman,  **that  may  very 
well  be;  but  how  if  they  die,  my  master?" 


JOHN   AMEND-ALL 

"They  cannot  better  die  than  for  their  natural  lord," 
said  Dick. 

"No  natural  lord  of  mine,"  said  the  man  in  the  smock. 
*M  followed  the  Walsinghams;  so  we  all  did  down  Bri- 
erly  way,  till  two  years  ago,  come  Candlemas.  And 
now  I  must  side  with  Brackley !  It  was  the  law  that  did 
it;  call  ye  that  natural  ?  But  now,  what  with  Sir  Dan- 
iel and  what  with  Sir  Oliver  —  that  knows  more  of  law 
than  honesty  —  I  have  no  natural  lord  but  poor  King 
Harry  the  Sixt,  God  bless  him!  —  the  poor  innocent 
that  cannot  tell  his  right  hand  from  his  left." 

"  Ye  speak  with  an  ill  tongue,  friend,"  answered  Dick, 
"  to  miscall  your  good  master  and  my  lord  the  king  in 
the  same  libel.  But  King  Harry  —  praised  be  the  saints ! 
—  has  come  again  into  his  right  mind,  and  will  have  all 
things  peaceably  ordained.  And  as  for  Sir  Daniel,  y'  are 
very  brave  behind  his  back.  But  I  will  be  no  tale- 
bearer; and  let  that  suffice." 

"I  say  no  harm  of  you,  Master  Richard,"  returned 
the  peasant.  "  Y'  are  a  lad;  but  when  ye  come  to  a 
man's  inches,  ye  will  find  ye  have  an  empty  pocket.  I 
say  no  more:  the  saints  help  Sir  Daniel's  neighbours, 
and  the  Blessed  Maid  protect  his  wards! " 

"Clipsby,"  said  Richard,  "you  speak  what  I  cannot 
hear  with  honour.  Sir  Daniel  is  my  good  master,  and 
my  guardian." 

"Come,  now,  will  ye  read  me  a  riddle?"  returned 
Clipsby.     ' '  On  whose  side  is  Sir  Daniel  ?  " 

"I  know  not,"  said  Dick,  colouring  a  little;  for  his 
guardian  had  changed  sides  continually  in  the  troubles 
of  that  period,  and  every  change  had  brought  him  some 
increase  of  fortune. 

3 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

'*Ay,"  returned  Clipsby,  ''you,  nor  no  man.  For, 
indeed,  he  is  one  that  goes  to  bed  Lancaster  and  gets 
up  York." 

Just  then  the  bridge  rang  under  horse-shoe  iron,  and 
the  party  turned  and  saw  Bennet  Hatch  come  galloping 
—  a  brown-faced,  grizzled  fellow,  heavy  of  hand  and 
grim  of  mien,  armed  with  sword  and  spear,  a  steel 
salet  on  his  head,  a  leather  jack  upon  his  body.  He 
was  a  great  man  in  these  parts ;  Sir  Daniel's  right  hand 
in  peace  and  war,  and  at  that  time,  by  his  master's  in- 
terest, bailiff  of  the  hundred. 

"Clipsby,"  he  shouted,  *'ofif  to  the  Moat  House,  and 
send  all  other  laggards  the  same  gate.  Bowyer  will  give 
you  jack  and  salet.  We  must  ride  before  curfew.  Look 
to  it :  he  that  is  last  at  the  lych-gate  Sir  Daniel  shall  re- 
ward. Look  to  it  right  well !  I  know  you  for  a  man 
of  naught.  Nance,"  he  added,  to  one  of  the  women, 
'*is  old  Appleyard  up  town  ?" 

"  I'll  warrant  you,"  replied  the  woman.  '*  In  his  field, 
for  sure." 

So  the  group  dispersed,  and  while  Clipsby  walked 
leisurely  over  the  bridge,  Bennet  and  young  Shelton 
rode  up  the  road  together,  through  the  village  and  past 
the  church. 

*'  Ye  will  see  the  old  shrew,"  said  Bennet.  ''  He  will 
waste  more  time  grumbling  and  prating  of  Harry  the 
Fift  than  would  serve  a  man  to  shoe  a  horse.  And  all 
because  he  has  been  to  the  French  wars ! " 

The  house  to  which  they  were  bound  was  the  last  in 
the  village,  standing  alone  among  lilacs ;  and  beyond  it, 
on  three  sides,  there  was  open  meadow  rising  towards 
the  borders  of  the  wood. 

4 


JOHN  AMEND-ALL 

Hatch  dismounted,  threw  his  rein  over  the  fence,  and 
walked  down  the  field,  Dick  keeping  close  at  his  elbow, 
to  where  the  old  soldier  was  digging,  knee-deep  in  his 
cabbages,  and  now  and  again,  in  a  cracked  voice,  sing- 
ing a  snatch  of  song.  He  was  all  dressed  in  leather, 
only  his  hood  and  tippet  were  of  black  frieze,  and  tied 
with  scarlet ;  his  face  was  like  a  walnut-shell,  both  for 
colour  and  wrinkles ;  but  his  old  grey  eye  was  still  clear 
enough,  and  his  sight  unabated.  Perhaps  he  was  deaf ; 
perhaps  he  thought  it  unworthy  of  an  old  archer  of 
Agincourt  to  pay  any  heed  to  such  disturbances;  but 
neither  the  surly  notes  of  the  alarm  bell,  nor  the  near 
approach  of  Bennet  and  the  lad,  appeared  at  all  to  move 
him ;  and  he  continued  obstinately  digging,  and  piped 
up,  very  thin  and  shaky : 

"Now,  dear  lady,  if  thy  will  be, 
I  pray  you  that  you  will  rue  on  me." 

'*Nick  Appleyard, "  said  Hatch,  *  *  Sir  Oliver  commends 
him  to  you,  and  bids  that  ye  shall  come  within  this  hour 
to  the  Moat  House,  there  to  take  command." 

The  old  fellow  looked  up. 

*'  Save  you,  my  masters ! "  he  said,  grinning.  '*  And 
where  goeth  Master  Hatch  ?  " 

"  Master  Hatch  is  off  to  Kettley,  with  every  man  that 
we  can  horse,"  returned  Bennet.  "There is  a  fight  to- 
ward, it  seems,  and  my  lord  stays  a  reinforcement." 

**  Ay,  verily,"  returned  Appleyard.  **  And  what  will 
ye  leave  me  to  garrison  withal  ?  " 

**  I  leave  you  six  good  men,  and  Sir  Oliver  to  boot," 
answered  Hatch. 

'* It'll  not  hold  the  place,"  said  Appleyard;   "the 

5 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

number  sufficeth  not.  It  would  take  two  score  to  make 
it  good." 

"Why,  it's  for  that  we  came  to  you,  old  shrew!" 
replied  the  other.  "Who  else  is  there  but  you  that 
could  do  aught  in  such  a  house  with  such  a  garrison  ?" 

"Ay!  when  the  pinch  comes,  ye  remember  the  old 
shoe,"  returned  Nick.  "There  is  not  a  man  of  you  can 
back  a  horse  or  hold  a  bill;  and  as  for  archery  —  St. 
Michael !  if  old  Harry  the  Fift  were  back  again,  he  would 
stand  and  let  ye  shoot  at  him  for  a  farthen  a  shoot! " 

"  Nay,  Nick,  there's  some  can  draw  a  good  bow  yet," 
said  Bennet. 

' '  Draw  a  good  bow ! "  cried  Appleyard.  *  *  Yes !  But 
who'll  shoot  me  a  good  shoot  ?  It's  there  the  eye  comes 
in,  and  the  head  between  your  shoulders.  Now,  what 
might  you  call  a  long  shoot,  Bennet  Hatch?" 

"  Well,"  said  Bennet,  looking  about  him,  "  it  would 
be  a  long  shoot  from  here  into  the  forest." 

"Ay,  it  would  be  a  longish  shoot,"  said  the  old  fellow, 
turning  to  look  over  his  shoulder;  and  then  he  put  up 
his  hand  over  his  eyes,  and  stood  staring. 

"Why,  what  are  you  looking  at?"  asked  Bennet, 
with  a  chuckle.     "  Do  you  see  Harry  the  Fift  ?  " 

The  veteran  continued  looking  up  the  hill  in  silence. 
The  sun  shone  broadly  over  the  shelving  meadows;  a 
few  white  sheep  wandered  browsing;  all  was  still  but 
the  distant  jangle  of  the  bell. 

"What  is  it,  Appleyard  ?"  asked  Dick. 

"Why,  the  birds,"  said  Appleyard. 

And,  sure  enough,  over  the  top  of  the  forest,  where  it 
ran  down  in  a  tongue  among  the  meadows,  and  ended 
in  a  pair  of  goodly  green  elms,  about  a  bowshot  from 

6 


JOHN   AMEND-ALL 

the  field  where  they  were  standing,  a  flight  of  birds  was 
skimming  to  and  fro,  in  evident  disorder. 

"  What  of  the  birds  ?  "  said  Bennet. 

"Ay!'*  returned  Appleyard,  "y'  are  a  wise  man  to 
go  to  war,  Master  Bennet.  Birds  are  a  good  sentry;  in 
forest  places  they  be  the  first  line  of  battle.  Look  you, 
now,  if  we  lay  here  in  camp,  there  might  be  archers 
skulking  down  to  get  the  wind  of  us;  and  here  would 
you  be,  none  the  wiser!  " 

"Why,  old  shrew,"  said  Hatch,  "there  be  no  men 
nearer  us  than  Sir  Daniel's,  at  Kettley;  y'  are  as  safe  as 
in  London  Tower;  and  ye  raise  scares  upon  a  man  for  a 
few  chaffinches  and  sparrows!" 

"Hear  him!"  grinned  Appleyard.  "How  many  a 
rogue  would  give  his  two  crop  ears  to  have  a  shoot  at 
either  of  us  ?  Saint  Michael,  man !  they  hate  us  like  two 
polecats ! " 

"Well,  sooth  it  is,  they  hate  Sir  Daniel,"  answered 
Hatch,  a  little  sobered. 

"Ay,  they  hate  Sir  Daniel,  and  they  hate  every  man 
that  serves  with  him,"  said  Appleyard;  "and  in  the 
first  order  of  hating,  they  hate  Bennet  Hatch  and  old 
Nicholas  the  bowman.  See  ye  here :  if  there  was  a  stout 
fellow  yonder  in  the  wood-edge,  and  you  and  I  stood 
fair  for  him  —  as,  by  Saint  George,  we  stand!  —  which, 
think  ye,  would  he  choose?" 

"  You,  for  a  good  wager,"  answered  Hatch. 

•  *  My  surcoat  to  a  leather  belt,  it  would  be  you !  "  cried 
the  old  archer.  ' '  Ye  burned  Grimstone,  Bennet — they'll 
ne'er  forgive  you  that,  my  master.  And  as  for  me,  I'll 
soon  be  in  a  good  place,  God  grant,  and  out  of  bow- 
shoot —  ay,  and  cannon-shoot  —  of  all  their  malices.     1 

7 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

am  an  old  man,  and  draw  fast  to  homeward,  where 
the  bed  is  ready.  But  for  you,  Bennet,  y'  are  to  remain 
behind  here  at  your  own  peril,  and  if  ye  come  to  my 
years  unhanged,  the  old  true-blue  English  spirit  will  be 
dead." 

'*  Y'  are  the  shrewishest  old  dolt  in  Tunstall  Forest," 
returned  Hatch,  visibly  ruffled  by  these  threats.  **  Get 
ye  to  your  arms  before  Sir  Oliver  come,  and  leave  pra- 
ting for  one  good  while.  An  ye  had  talked  so  much 
with  Harry  the  Fift,  his  ears  would  ha*  been  richer  than 
his  pocket." 

An  arrow  sang  in  the  air,  like  a  huge  hornet ;  it  struck 
old  Appleyard  between  the  shoulder-blades,  and  pierced 
him  clean  through,  and  he  fell  forward  on  his  face  among 
the  cabbages.  Hatch,  with  a  broken  cry,  leapt  into  the 
air;  then,  stooping  double,  he  ran  for  the  cover  of  the 
house.  And  in  the  meanwhile  Dick  Shelton  had  dropped 
behind  a  lilac,  and  had  his  crossbow  bent  and  shouldered, 
covering  the  point  of  the  forest. 

Not  a  leaf  stirred.  The  sheep  were  patiently  brows- 
ing; the  birds  had  settled.  But  there  lay  the  old  man, 
with  a  cloth-yard  arrow  standing  in  his  back;  and  there 
were  Hatch  holding  to  the  gable,  and  Dick  crouching 
and  ready  behind  the  lilac  bush. 

"  D'ye  see  aught  ?"  cried  Hatch. 

**Not  a  twig  stirs,"  said  Dick. 

'*  I  think  shame  to  leave  him  lying,"  said  Bennet,  com- 
ing forward  once  more  with  hesitating  steps  and  a  very 
pale  countenance.  **Keep  a  good  eye  on  the  wood, 
Master  Shelton  —  keep  a  clear  eye  on  the  wood.  The 
saints  assoil  us !  here  was  a  good  shoot ! " 

Bennet  raised  the  old  archer  on  his  knee.    He  was  not 

8 


JOHN   AMEND-ALL 

yet  dead ;  his  face  worked,  and  his  eyes  shut  and  opened 
like  machinery,  and  he  had  a  most  horrible,  ugly  look  of 
one  in  pain. 

"  Can  ye  hear,  old  Nick  ?"  asked  Hatch.  '*  Have  ye 
a  last  wish  before  ye  wend,  old  brother  ?  " 

* '  Pluck  out  the  shaft,  and  let  me  pass,  a*  Mary's  name ! " 
gasped  Appleyard.  "  I  be  done  with  Old  England. 
Pluck  it  out!" 

'* Master  Dick,"  said  Bennet,  "come  hither,  and  pull 
me  a  good  pull  upon  the  arrow.  He  would  fain  pass, 
the  poor  sinner." 

Dick  laid  down  his  cross-bow,  and  pulling  hard  upon 
the  arrow,  drew  it  forth.  A  gush  of  blood  followed; 
the  old  archer  scrambled  half  upon  his  feet,  called  once 
upon  the  name  of  God,  and  then  fell  dead.  Hatch,  upon 
his  knees  among  the  cabbages,  prayed  fervently  for  the 
welfare  of  the  passing  spirit.  But  even  as  he  prayed,  it 
was  plain  that  his  mind  was  still  divided,  and  he  kept 
ever  an  eye  upon  the  corner  of  the  wood  from  which  the 
shot  had  come.  When  he  had  done,  he  got  to  his  feet 
again,  drew  ofTone  of  his  mailed  gauntlets,  and  wiped  his 
pale  face,  which  was  all  wet  with  terror. 

"Ay,"  he  said,  "it'll  be  my  turn  next." 

"Who  hath  done  this,  Bennet?"  Richard  asked,  still 
holding  the  arrow  in  his  hand. 

"Nay,  the  saints  know,"  said  Hatch.  "Here  are  a 
good  two  score  Christian  souls  that  we  have  hunted  out 
of  house  and  holding,  he  and  I.  He  has  paid  his  shot, 
poor  shrew,  nor  will  it  be  long,  mayhap,  ere  I  pay  mine. 
Sir  Daniel  driveth  over-hard." 

"  This  is  a  strange  shaft,"  said  the  lad,  looking  at  the 
arrow  in  his  hand. 

9 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

**Ay,  by  my  faith!"  cried  Bennet.  *' Black,  and 
black-feathered.  Here  is  an  ill-favoured  shaft,  by  my 
sooth !  for  black,  they  say,  bodes  burial.  And  here  be 
words  written.   Wipe  the  blood  away.    What  read  ye  ?  " 

'''Appulyaird  fro  Jon  Amend- AU,'  "  read  Shelton. 
''What  should  this  betoken.?" 

*'  Nay,  I  like  it  not,"  returned  the  retainer,  shaking  his 
head.  "John  Amend- All!  Here  is  a  rogue's  name  for 
those  that  be  up  in  the  world !  But  why  stand  we  here  to 
make  a  mark  .?  Take  him  by  the  knees,  good  Master  Shel- 
ton, while  1  lift  him  by  the  shoulders,  and  let  us  lay  him  in 
his  house.  This  will  be  a  rare  shog  to  poor  Sir  Oliver ;  he 
will  turn  paper  colour;  he  will  pray  like  a  windmill." 

They  took  up  the  old  archer,  and  carried  him  between 
them  into  his  house,  where  he  had  dwelt  alone.  And 
there  they  laid  him  on  the  floor,  out  of  regard  for  the 
mattress,  and  sought,  as  best  they  might,  to  straighten 
and  compose  his  limbs. 

Appleyard's  house  was  clean  and  bare.  There  was  a 
bed,  with  a  blue  cover,  a  cupboard,  a  great  chest,  a  pair 
of  joint-stools,  a  hinged  table  in  the  chimney  corner, 
and  hung  upon  the  wall  the  old  soldier's  armoury  of 
bows  and  defensive  armour.  Hatch  began  to  look  about 
him  curiously. 

"Nick  had  money,"  he  said.  ''He  may  have  had 
three  score  pounds  put  by.  I  would  I  could  light  upon 't  I 
When  ye  lose  an  old  friend.  Master  Richard,  the  best 
consolation  is  to  heir  him.  See,  now,  this  chest.  I 
would  go  a  mighty  wager  there  is  a  bushel  of  gold 
therein.  He  had  a  strong  hand  to  get,  and  a  hard  hand 
to  keep  withal,  had  Appleyard  the  archer.  Now  may 
God  rest  his  spirit!    Near  eighty  year  he  was  afoot  and 


JOHN   AMEND-ALL 

about,  and  ever  getting;  but  now  he's  on  the  broad  of 
his  back,  poor  shrew,  and  no  more  lacketh;  and  if  his 
chattels  came  to  a  good  friend,  he  would  be  merrier, 
methinks,  in  heaven." 

"Come,  Hatch,"  said  Dick,  "respect  his  stone-blind 
eyes.  Would  ye  rob  the  man  before  his  body  ?  Nay, 
he  would  walk!" 

Hatch  made  several  signs  of  the  cross ;  but  by  this 
time  his  natural  complexion  had  returned,  and  he  was 
not  easily  to  be  dashed  from  any  purpose.  It  would 
have  gone  hard  with  the  chest  had  not  the  gate  sounded, 
and  presently  after  the  door  of  the  house  opened  and  ad- 
mitted a  tall,  portly,  ruddy,  black-eyed  man  of  near  fifty, 
in  a  surplice  and  black  robe. 

"Appleyard" the  newcomer  was  saying,  as  he 

entered ;  but  he  stopped  dead.  * '  Ave  Maria !  "  he  cried. 
"  Saints  be  our  shield !     What  cheer  is  this  ?  " 

"Cold  cheer  with  Appleyard,  sir  parson,"  answered 
Hatch,  with  perfect  cheerfulness.  "Shot  at  his  own 
door,  and  alighteth  even  now  at  purgatory  gates.  Ay ! 
there,  if  tales  be  true,  he  shall  lack  neither  coal  nor 
candle." 

Sir  Oliver  groped  his  way  to  a  joint-stool,  and  sat 
down  upon  it,  sick  and  white. 

'  *  This  is  a  judgment !  O,  a  great  stroke ! "  he  sobbed, 
and  rattled  off  a  leash  of  prayers. 

Hatch  meanwhile  reverently  doffed  his  salet  and  knelt 
down. 

"Ay,  Bennet,"  said  the  priest,  somewhat  recovering, 
"and  what  may  this  be  ?  What  enemy  hath  done  this  ? " 

* '  Here,  Sir  Oliver,  is  the  arrow.  See,  it  is  written 
upon  with  words,"  said  Dick. 

II 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

"Nay,"  cried  the  priest,  *' this  is  a  foul  hearing!  John 
Amend- All  I  A  right  Lollardy  word.  And  black  of  hue, 
as  for  an  omen  I  Sirs,  this  knave  arrow  likes  me  not. 
But  it  importeth  rather  to  take  counsel.  Who  should 
this  be  ?  Bethink  you,  Bennet.  Of  so  many  black  ill- 
willers,  which  should  he  be  that  doth  so  hardily  outface 
us  ?  Simnel  ?  I  do  much  question  it.  The  Walsing- 
hams  ?  Nay,  they  are  not  yet  so  broken ;  they  still  think 
to  have  the  law  over  us,  when  times  change.  There 
was  Simon  Malmesbury,  too.    How  think  ye,  Bennet  ?" 

"What  think  ye,  sir,"  returned  Hatch,  ** of  Ellis 
Duckworth  ?  " 

**Nay,  Bennet,  never.  Nay,  not  he,'*  said  the  priest 
"There  cometh  never  any  rising,  Bennet,  from  below 
—  so  all  judicious  chroniclers  concord  in  their  opinion; 
but  rebellion  travelleth  ever  downward  from  above ;  and 
when  Dick,  Tom,  and  Harry  take  them  to  their  bills,  look 
ever  narrowly  to  see  what  lord  is  profited  thereby.  Now, 
Sir  Daniel,  having  once  more  joined  him  to  the  Queen's 
party,  is  in  ill  odour  with  the  Yorkist  lords.  Thence, 
Bennet,  comes  the  blow — by  what  procuring,  I  yet 
seek;  but  therein  lies  the  nerve  of  this  discomfiture." 

"An't  please  you,  Sir  Oliver,"  said  Bennet,  "the 
axles  are  so  hot  in  this  country  that  I  have  long  been 
smelling  fire.  So  did  this  poor  sinner,  Appleyard.  And, 
by  your  leave,  men's  spirits  are  so  foully  inclined  to  all 
of  us,  that  it  needs  neither  York  nor  Lancaster  to  spur 
them  on.  Hear  my  plain  thoughts:  You,  that  are  a 
clerk,  and  Sir  Daniel,  that  sails  on  any  wind,  ye  have 
taken  many  men's  goods,  and  beaten  and  hanged  not  a 
few.  Y'  are  called  to  count  for  this;  in  the  end,  I  wot 
not  how,  ye  have  ever  the  uppermost  at  law,  and  ye 


JOHN  AMEND-ALL 

think  all  patched.  But  give  me  leave,  Sir  Oliver:  the 
man  that  ye  have  dispossessed  and  beaten  is  but  the 
angrier,  and  some  day,  when  the  black  devil  is  by,  he 
will  up  with  his  bow  and  clout  me  a  yard  of  arrow 
through  your  inwards." 

**  Nay,  Bennet,  y'  are  in  the  wrong.  Bennet,  ye  should 
be  glad  to  be  corrected, "  said  Sir  Oliver.  *  *  Y'  are  a  prater, 
Bennet,  a  talker,  a  babbler;  your  mouth  is  wider  than 
your  two  ears.     Mend  it,  Bennet,  mend  it." 

**Nay,  I  say  no  more.  Have  it  as  ye  list,"  said  the 
retainer. 

The  priest  now  rose  from  the  stool,  and  from  the 
writing-case  that  hung  about  his  neck  took  forth  wax 
and  a  taper,  and  a  flint  and  steel.  With  these  he  sealed 
up  the  chest  and  the  cupboard  with  Sir  Daniel's  arms. 
Hatch  looking  on  disconsolate;  and  then  the  whole 
party  proceeded,  somewhat  timorously,  to  sally  from 
the  house  and  get  to  horse. 

**'Tis  time  we  were  on  the  road.  Sir  Oliver,"  said 
Hatch,  as  he  held  the  priest's  stirrup  while  he  mounted. 

"Ay;  but,  Bennet,  things  are  changed,"  returned  the 
parson.  *' There  is  now  no  Appleyard — rest  his  soul! 
— to  keep  the  garrison.  I  shall  keep  you,  Bennet.  I 
must  have  a  good  man  to  rest  me  on  in  this  day  of  black 
arrows.  *  The  arrow  that  flieth  by  day,*  saith  the  evan- 
gel; I  have  no  mind  of  the  context;  nay,  I  am  a  sluggard 
priest,  I  am  too  deep  in  men's  affairs.  Well,  let  us  ride 
forth,  Master  Hatch.  The  jackmen  should  be  at  the 
church  by  now." 

So  they  rode  forward  down  the  road,  with  the  wind 
after  them,  blowing  the  tails  of  the  parson's  cloak;  and 
behind  them,  as  they  went,  clouds  began  to  arise  and 

>3 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

blot  out  the  sinking  sun.  They  had  passed  three  of  the 
scattered  houses  that  make  up  Tunstall  hamlet,  when, 
coming  to  a  turn,  they  saw  the  church  before  them. 
Ten  or  a  dozen  houses  clustered  immediately  round  it; 
but  to  the  back  the  churchyard  was  next  the  meadows. 
At  the  lych-gate,  near  a  score  of  men  were  gathered, 
some  in  the  saddle,  some  standing  by  their  horses' 
heads.  They  were  variously  armed  and  mounted; 
some  with  spears,  some  with  bills,  some  with  bows, 
and  some  bestriding  plough-horses,  still  splashed  with 
the  mire  of  the  furrow;  for  these  were  the  very  dregs 
of  the  country,  and  all  the  better  men  and  the  fair 
equipments  were  already  with  Sir  Daniel  in  the  field. 

''We  have  not  done  amiss,  praised  be  the  cross  of 
Holy  wood!  Sir  Daniel  will  be  right  well  content,"  ob- 
served the  priest,  inwardly  numbering  the  troop. 

*' Who  goes?    Stand!  ifyebetrue!"  shouted  Bennet. 

A  man  was  seen  slipping  through  the  churchyard 
among  the  yews;  and  at  the  sound  of  this  summons 
he  discarded  all  concealment,  and  fairly  took  to  his 
heels  for  the  forest.  The  men  at  the  gate,  who  had 
been  hitherto  unaware  of  the  stranger's  presence,  woke 
and  scattered.  Those  who  had  dismounted  began 
scrambling  into  the  saddle;  the  rest  rode  in  pursuit; 
but  they  had  to  make  the  circuit  of  the  consecrated 
ground,  and  it  was  plain  their  quarry  would  escape 
them.  Hatch,  roaring  an  oath,  put  his  horse  at  the 
hedge,  to  head  him  off;  but  the  beast  refused,  and  sent 
his  rider  sprawling  in  the  dust.  And  though  he  was 
up  again  in  a  moment,  and  had  caught  the  bridle,  the 
time  had  gone  by,  and  the  fugitive  had  gained  too  great 
a  lead  for  any  hope  of  capture. 

14 


JOHN   AMEND-ALL 

The  wisest  of  all  had  been  Dick  Shelton.  Instead  of 
starting  in  a  vain  pursuit,  he  had  whipped  his  cross- 
bow from  his  .back,  bent  it,  and  set  a  quarrel  to  the 
string ;  and  now,  when  the  others  had  desisted,  he  turned 
to  Bennet  and  asked  if  he  should  shoot. 

"Shoot!  shoot!"  cried  the  priest,  with  sanguinary 
violence. 

* '  Cover  him,  Master  Dick, "  said  Bennet.  **  Bring  me 
him  down  like  a  ripe  apple." 

The  fugitive  was  now  within  but  a  few  leaps  of 
safety ;  but  this  last  part  of  the  meadow  ran  very  steeply 
uphill;  and  the  man  ran  slower  in  proportion.  What 
with  the  greyness  of  the  falling  night,  and  the  uneven 
movements  of  the  runner,  it  was  no  easy  aim ;  and  as 
Dick  levelled  his  bow,  he  felt  a  kind  of  pity,  and  a  half 
desire  that  he  might  miss.     The  quarrel  sped. 

The  man  stumbled  and  fell,  and  a  great  cheer  arose 
from  Hatch  and  the  pursuers.  But  they  were  counting 
their  corn  before  the  harvest.  The  man  fell  lightly ;  he 
was  lightly  afoot  again,  turned  and  waved  his  cap  in  a 
bravado,  and  was  out  of  sight  next  moment  in  the  mar- 
gin of  the  wood. 

* '  And  the  plague  go  with  him ! "  cried  Bennet.  ' '  He 
has  thieves'  heels ;  he  can  run,  by  St.  Banbury !  But  you 
touched  him.  Master  Shelton ;  he  has  stolen  your  quarrel, 
may  he  never  have  good  I  grudge  him  less!" 

"Nay,  but  what  made  he  by  the  church  ?"  asked  Sir 
Oliver.  "lam  shrewdly  afeared  there  has  been  mischief 
here.  Clipsby,  good  fellow,  get  ye  down  from  your 
horse,  and  search  thoroughly  among  the  yews." 

Clipsby  was  gone  but  a  little  while  ere  he  returned 
carrying  a  paper. 

15 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

"This  writing  was  pinned  to  the  church  door,"  he 
said,  handing  it  to  the  parson.  *'l  found  naught  else, 
sir  parson." 

*'Now,  by  the  power  of  Mother  Church,"  cried  Sir 
Oliver,  '*  but  this  runs  hard  on  sacrilege  I  For  the  king's 
good  pleasure,  or  the  lord  of  the  manor — well  I  But 
that  every  run-the-hedge  in  a  green  jerkin  should  fasten 
papers  to  the  chancel  door — nay,  it  runs  hard  on  sacri- 
lege, hard ;  and  men  have  burned  for  matters  of  less 
weight.  But  what  have  we  here  ?  The  light  falls  apace. 
Good  Master  Richard,  y'  have  young  eyes.  Read  me,  I 
pray,  this  libel." 

Dick  Shelton  took  the  paper  in  his  hand  and  read  it 
aloud.  It  contained  some  lines  of  very  rugged  doggerel, 
hardly  even  rhyming,  written  in  a  gross  character,  and 
most  uncouthly  spelt.  With  the  spelling  somewhat 
bettered,  this  is  how  they  ran : 

"  I  had  four  blak  arrows  under  my  belt, 
Four  for  the  greefs  that  I  have  felt, 
Four  for  the  nomber  of  ill  menne 
That  have  opressid  me  now  and  then. 

One  is  gone;  one  is  wele  sped; 
Old  Apulyaird  is  ded. 

One  is  for  Maister  Bennet  Hatch, 

That  burned  Grimstone,  walls  and  thatch. 

One  for  Sir  Oliver  Oates, 

That  cut  Sir  Harry  Shelton's  throat 

Sir  Daniel,  ye  shull  have  the  fourt; 
We  shall  think  it  fair  sport. 
i6 


JOHN  AMEND-ALL 

Ye  shull  each  have  your  own  part, 
A  blak  arrow  in  each  blak  heart. 
Get  ye  to  your  knees  for  to  pray: 
Ye  are  ded  theeves,  by  yea  and  nay! 

"JoK  Amend-All 

of  the  Green  Wood, 
And  his  jolly  fellaweship. 

"  Item,  we  have  mo  arrowes  and  goode  hempen  cord  for  otheres 
of  your  following." 

*'Now,  well-a-day  for  charity  and  the  Christian 
graces!  "  cried  Sir  Oliver,  lamentably.  '*Sirs,  this  is  an 
ill  world,  and  groweth  daily  worse.  I  will  swear  upon 
the  cross  of  Holywood  I  am  as  innocent  of  that  good 
knight's  hurt,  whether  in  act  or  purpose,  as  the  babe 
unchristened.  Neither  was  his  throat  cut ;  for  therein 
they  are  again  in  error,  as  there  still  live  credible  wit- 
nesses to  show." 

"It  boots  not,  sir  parson,"  said  Bennet.  **Here  is 
unseasonable  talk." 

"Nay,  Master  Bennet,  not  so.  Keep  ye  in  your  due 
place,  good  Bennet,"  answered  the  priest.  "I  shall 
make  mine  innocence  appear.  I  will,  upon  no  consid- 
eration, lose  my  poor  life  in  error.  I  take  all  men  to 
witness  that  I  am  clear  of  this  matter.  I  was  not  even 
in  the  Moat  House.  I  was  sent  of  an  errand  before  nine 
upon  the  clock  " 

"Sir  Oliver,"  said  Hatch,  interrupting, "  since  it  please 
you  not  to  stop  this  sermon,  I  will  take  other  means. 
Goffe,  sound  to  horse." 

And  while  the  tucket  was  sounding,  Bennet  moved 
close  to  the  bewildered  parson,  and  whispered  violently 
in  his  ear. 

"7 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

Dick  Shelton  saw  the  priest's  eye  turned  upon  him  for 
an  instant  in  a  startled  glance.  He  had  some  cause  for 
thought;  for  this  Sir  Harry  Shelton  was  his  own  natural 
father.  But  he  said  never  a  word,  and  kept  his  counte- 
nance unmoved. 

Hatch  and  Sir  Oliver  discussed  together  for  a  while 
their  altered  situation ;  ten  men,  it  was  decided  between 
them,  should  be  reserved,  not  only  to  garrison  the  Moat 
House,  but  to  escort  the  priest  across  the  wood.  In  the 
meantime,  as  Bennet  was  to  remain  behind,  the  com- 
mand of  the  reinforcement  was  given  to  Master  Shelton. 
Indeed,  there  was  no  choice;  the  men  were  loutish  fel- 
lows, dull  and  unskilled  in  war,  while  Dick  was  not 
only  popular,  but  resolute  and  grave  beyond  his  age. 
Although  his  youth  had  been  spent  in  these  rough,  coun- 
try places,  the  lad  had  been  well  taught  in  letters  by  Sir 
Oliver,  and  Hatch  himself  had  shown  him  the  manage- 
ment of  arms  and  the  first  principles  of  command.  Ben- 
net  had  always  been  kind  and  helpful;  he  was  one  of 
those  who  are  cruel  as  the  grave  to  those  they  call  their 
enemies,  but  ruggedly  faithful  and  well  willing  to  their 
friends;  and  now,  while  Sir  Oliver  entered  the  next 
house  to  write,  in  his  swift,  exquisite  penmanship,  a 
memorandum  of  the  last  occurrences  to  his  master.  Sir 
Daniel  Brackley,  Bennet  came  up  to  his  pupil  to  wish 
him  God-speed  upon  his  enterprise. 

"Ye  must  go  the  long  way  about.  Master  Shelton," 
he  said;  "round  by  the  bridge,  for  your  life!  Keep  a 
sure  man  fifty  paces  afore  you,  to  draw  shots ;  and  go 
softly  till  y*  are  past  the  wood.  If  the  rogues  fall  upon 
you,  ride  for  't;  ye  will  do  naught  by  standing.  And 
keep  ever  forward.  Master  Shelton;  turn  me  not  back 

18 


JOHN   AMEND-ALL 

again,  an  ye  love  your  life ;  there  is  no  help  in  Tunstall, 
mind  ye  that.  And  now,  since  ye  go  to  the  great  wars 
about  the  king,  and  I  continue  to  dwell  here  in  extreme 
jeopardy  of  my  life,  and  the  saints  alone  can  certify  if  we 
shall  meet  again  below,  I  give  you  my  last  counsels  now 
at  your  riding.  Keep  an  eye  on  Sir  Daniel;  he  is  un- 
sure. Put  not  your  trust  in  the  jack-priest ;  he  intendeth 
not  amiss,  but  doth  the  will  of  others;  it  is  a  hand-gun 
for  Sir  Daniel!  Get  your  good  lordship  where  ye  go; 
make  you  strong  friends;  look  to  it.  And  think  ever  a 
pater-noster-wliile  on  Bennet  Hatch.  There  are  worse 
rogues  afoot  than  Bennet.     So,  God-speed !  " 

"  And  Heaven  be  with  you,  Bennet!  "  returned  Dick. 
"  Ye  were  a  good  friend  to  me-ward,  and  so  I  shall  say 
ever" 

"And,  look  ye,  master,"  added  Hatch,  with  a  certain 
embarrassment,  "if  this  Amend-All  should  get  a  shaft 
into  me,  ye  might,  mayhap,  lay  out  a  gold  mark  or  may- 
hap a  pound  for  my  poor  soul;  for  it  is  like  to  go  stiff 
with  me  in  purgatory." 

* '  Ye  shall  have  your  will  of  it,  Bennet, "  answered  Dick. 
*'  But,  what  cheer,  man!  we  shall  meet  again,  where  ye 
shall  have  more  need  of  ale  than  masses." 

*'  The  saints  so  grant  it.  Master  Dick!  "  returned  the 
other.  "But  here  comes  Sir  Oliver.  An  he  were  as 
quick  with  the  long-bow  as  with  the  pen,  he  would  be 
a  brave  man-at-arms." 

Sir  Oliver  gave  Dick  a  sealed  packet,  with  this  super- 
scription: "To  my  ryght  worchypful  master.  Sir  Daniel 
Brackley,  knyght,  be  thys  delyvered  in  haste." 

And  Dick,  putting  it  in  the  bosom  of  his  jacket,  gave 
the  word  and  set  forth  westward  up  the  village. 

19 


BOOK  I 

THE  TWO  LADS 


CHAPTER  I 

AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  SUN   IN  KETTLEY 

SIR  DANIEL  and  his  men  lay  in  and  about  Kettley 
that  night,  warmly  quartered  and  well  patrolled. 
But  the  Knight  of  Tunstall  was  one  who  never  rested 
from  money-getting;  and  even  now,  when  he  was  on 
the  brink  of  an  adventure  which  should  make  or  mar 
him,  he  was  up  an  hour  after  midnight  to  squeeze  poor 
neighbours.  He  was  one  who  trafficked  greatly  in  dis- 
puted inheritances ;  it  was  his  way  to  buy  out  the  most 
unlikely  claimant,  and  then,  by  the  favour  he  curried 
with  great  lords  about  the  king,  procure  unjust  decisions 
in  his  favour;  or,  if  that  was  too  roundabout,  to  seize 
the  disputed  manor  by  force  of  arms,  and  rely  on  his 
influence  and  Sir  Oliver's  cunning  in  the  law  to  hold 
what  he  had  snatched.  Kettley  was  one  such  place;  it 
had  come  very  lately  into  his  clutches;  he  still  met  with 
opposition  from  the  tenants;  and  it  was  to  overawe  dis- 
content that  he  had  led  his  troops  that  way. 

By  two  in  the  morning,  Sir  Daniel  sat  in  the  inn  room, 
close  by  the  fireside,  for  it  was  cold  at  that  hour  among 
the  fens  of  Kettley.  By  his  elbow  stood  a  pottle  of  spiced 
ale.  He  had  taken  off  his  visored  headpiece,  and  sat 
with  his  bald  head  and  thin,  dark  visage  resting  on  one 
hand,  wrapped  warmly  in  a  sanguine-coloured  cloak. 
At  the  lower  end  of  the  room  about  a  dozen  of  his  men 

3> 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

Stood  sentry  over  the  door  or  lay  asleep  on  benches ; 
and  somewhat  nearer  hand,  a  young  lad,  apparently  of 
twelve  or  thirteen,  was  stretched  in  a  mantle  on  the 
floor.    The  host  of  the  Sun  stood  before  the  great  man. 

*'Now,  mark  me,  mine  host,"  Sir  Daniel  said,  ** fol- 
low but  mine  orders,  and  I  shall  be  your  good  lord  ever. 
I  must  have  good  men  for  head  boroughs,  and  I  will 
have  Adam-a-More  high  constable ;  see  to  it  narrowly. 
If  other  men  be  chosen,  it  shall  avail  you  nothing; 
rather  it  shall  be  found  to  your  sore  cost.  For  those 
that  have  paid  rent  to  Walsingham  I  shall  take  good 
measure  —  you  among  the  rest,  mine  host." 

"Good  knight,"  said  the  host,  **I  will  swear  upon 
the  cross  of  Holywood  I  did  but  pay  to  Walsingham 
upon  compulsion.  Nay,  bully  knight,  I  love  not  the 
rogue  Walsinghams ;  they  were  as  poor  as  thieves,  bully 
knight.  Give  me  a  great  lord  like  you.  Nay ;  ask  me 
among  the  neighbours,  I  am  stout  for  Brackley." 

"  It  may  be,"  said  Sir  Daniel,  dryly.  "  Ye  shall  then 
pay  twice." 

The  innkeeper  made  a  horrid  grimace ;  but  this  was 
a  piece  of  bad  luck  that  might  readily  befall  a  tenant  in 
these  unruly  times,  and  he  was  perhaps  glad  to  make 
his  peace  so  easily. 

**  Bring  up  yon  fellow,  Selden! "  cried  the  knight. 

And  one  of  his  retainers  led  up  a  poor,  cringing  old 
man,  as  pale  as  a  candle,  and  all  shaking  with  the  fen 
fever. 

*'  Sirrah,"  said  Sir  Daniel,  ''your  name  ?" 

**An't  please  your  worship, "  replied  the  man,  "my 
name  is  Condall  —  Condall  of  Shoreby,  at  your  good 
worship's  pleasure." 


AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  SUN   IN   KETTLEY 

*  *  I  have  heard  you  ill  reported  on, "  returned  the  knight. 
"  Ye  deal  in  treason,  rogue;  ye  trudge  the  country  leas- 
ing; y'  are  heavily  suspicioned  of  the  death  of  severals. 
How,  fellow,  are  ye  so  bold  ?  But  I  will  bring  you 
down." 

"  Right  honourable  and  my  reverend  lord,"  the  man 
cried,  "here  is  some  hodge-podge,  saving  your  good 
presence.  I  am  but  a  poor  private  man,  and  have  hurt 
none." 

**The  under-sheriff  did  report  of  you  most  vilely," 
said  the  knight.  **  'Seize  me,'  saith  he,  *that  Tyndal 
of  Shoreby.'" 

"  Condall,  my  good  lord;  Condall  is  my  poor  name," 
said  the  unfortunate. 

**  Condall  or  Tyndal,  it  is  all  one,"  replied  Sir  Daniel, 
coolly.  **  For,  by  my  sooth,  y'  are  here,  and  I  do  might- 
ily suspect  your  honesty.  If  ye  would  save  your  neck, 
write  me  swiftly  an  obligation  for  twenty  pound." 

**  For  twenty  pound,  my  good  lord! "  cried  Condall. 
**Here  is  midsummer  madness  I  My  whole  estate 
amounteth  not  to  seventy  shillings." 

*' Condall  or  Tyndal,"  returned  Sir  Daniel,  grinning, 
**  I  will  run  my  peril  of  that  loss.  Write  me  down 
twenty,  and  when  I  have  recovered  all  I  may,  1  will  be 
good  lord  to  you,  and  pardon  you  the  rest." 

**  Alas!  my  good  lord,  it  may  not  be;  I  have  no  skill 
to  write,"  said  Condall. 

"  Well-a-day  I "  returned  the  knight.  **  Here,  then,  is 
no  remedy.  Yet  I  would  fain  have  spared  you,  Tyndal, 
had  my  conscience  suffered.  Selden,  take  me  this  old 
shrew  softly  to  the  nearest  elm,  and  hang  me  him  ten- 
derly by  the  neck,  where  I  may  see  him  at  my  riding. 

35 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

Fare  ye  well,  good  Master  Condall,  dear  Master  Tyndal; 
y'  are  post-haste  for  Paradise;  fare  ye  then  well! " 

"Nay,  my  right  pleasant  lord,"  replied  Condall,  forc- 
ing an  obsequious  smile,  *'an  ye  be  so  masterful,  as 
doth  right  well  become  you,  I  will  even,  with  all  my 
poor  skill,  do  your  good  bidding." 

"  Friend,"  quoth  Sir  Daniel,  "ye  will  now  write  two 
score.  Go  to !  y'  are  too  cunning  for  a  livelihood  of  sev- 
enty shillings.  Selden,  see  him  write  me  this  in  good 
form,  and  have  it  duly  witnessed." 

And  Sir  Daniel,  who  was  a  very  merry  knight,  none 
merrier  in  England,  took  a  drink  of  his  mulled  ale,  and 
lay  back,  smiling. 

Meanwhile,  the  boy  upon  the  floor  began  to  stir,  and 
presently  sat  up  and  looked  about  him  with  a  scare. 

"  Hither,"  said  Sir  Daniel;  and  as  the  other  rose  at  his 
command  and  came  slowly  towards  him,  he  leaned  back 
and  laughed  outright.  "By  the  rood!"  he  cried,  "a 
sturdy  boy ! " 

The  lad  flushed  crimson  with  anger,  and  darted  a 
look  of  hate  out  of  his  dark  eyes.  Now  that  he  was  on 
his  legs,  it  was  more  difficult  to  make  certain  of  his 
age.  His  face  looked  somewhat  older  in  expression, 
but  it  was  as  smooth  as  a  young  child's;  and  in  bone 
and  body  he  was  unusually  slender,  and  somewhat 
awkward  of  gait. 

"  Ye  have  called  me,  Sir  Daniel,"  he  said.  "Was  it 
to  laugh  at  my  poor  plight?" 

"Nay,  now,  let  laugh,"  said  the  knight.  "Good 
shrew,  let  laugh,  I  pray  you.  An  ye  could  see  your- 
self, 1  warrant  ye  would  laugh  the  first." 

"  Well,"  cried  the  lad,  flushing,  "ye  shall  answer  this 
26 


AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  SUN   IN   KETTLEY 

when  ye  answer  for  the  other.     Laugh  while  yet  ye 
may ! " 

"Nay,  now,  good  cousin,"  replied  Sir  Daniel,  with 
some  earnestness,  "think  not  that  I  mock  at  you,  ex- 
cept in  mirth,  as  between  kinsfolk  and  singular  friends. 
I  will  make  you  a  marriage  of  a  thousand  pounds,  go 
to!  and  cherish  you  exceedingly.  I  took  you,  indeed, 
roughly,  as  the  time  demanded;  but  from  henceforth  I 
shall  ungrudgingly  maintain  and  cheerfully  serve  you. 
Ye  shall  be  Mrs.  Shelton  —  Lady  Shelton,  by  my  troth ! 
for  the  lad  promiseth  bravely.  Tut!  ye  will  not  shy  for 
honest  laughter;  it  purgeth  melancholy.  They  are  no 
rogues  who  laugh,  good  cousin.  Good  mine  host,  lay 
me  a  meal  now  for  my  cousin,  Master  John.  Sit  ye 
down,  sweetheart,  and  eat." 

"Nay,"  said  Master  John,  "I  will  break  no  bread. 
Since  ye  force  me  to  this  sin,  I  will  fast  for  my  soul's 
interest.  But,  good  mine  host,  I  pray  you  of  courtesy 
give  me  a  cup  of  fair  water;  I  shall  be  much  beholden 
to  your  courtesy  indeed." 

"Ye  shall  have  a  dispensation,  go  to!"  cried  the 
knight.  "Shalt  be  well  shriven,  by  my  faith!  Con- 
tent you,  then,  and  eat." 

But  the  lad  was  obstinate,  drank  a  cup  of  water,  and, 
once  more  wrapping  himself  closely  in  his  mantle,  sat 
in  a  far  corner,  brooding. 

In  an  hour  or  two,  there  rose  a  stir  in  the  village  of 
sentries  challenging  and  the  clatter  of  arms  and  horses; 
and  then  a  troop  drew  up  by  the  inn  door,  and  Richard 
Shelton,  splashed  with  mud,  presented  himself  upon 
the  threshold. 

"Save  you.  Sir  Daniel,"  he  said. 
37 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

"How!  Dickie  Shelton!"  cried  the  knight;  and  at 
the  mention  of  Dick's  name  the  other  lad  looked  curi- 
ously across.     **  What  maketh  Bennet  Hatch  ?" 

"  Please  you,  sir  knight,  to  take  cognisance  of  this 
packet  from  Sir  Oliver,  wherein  are  all  things  fully 
stated,"  answered  Richard,  presenting  the  priest's  letter. 
*' And  please  you  farther,  ye  were  best  make  all  speed 
to  Risingham ;  for  on  the  way  hither  we  encountered 
one  riding  furiously  with  letters,  and  by  his  report,  my 
Lord  of  Risingham  was  sore  bested,  and  lacked  exceed- 
ingly your  presence/' 

* '  How  say  you  ?  Sore  bested  ?  "  returned  the  knight. 
**Nay,  then,  we  will  make  speed  sitting  down,  good 
Richard.  As  the  world  goes  in  this  poor  realm  of 
England,  he  that  rides  softliest  rides  surest.  Delay,  they 
say,  begetteth  peril ;  but  it  is  rather  this  itch  of  doing  that 
undoes  men ;  mark  it,  Dick.  But  let  me  see,  first,  what 
cattle  ye  have  brought.  Selden,  a  link  here  at  the  door! " 

And  Sir  Daniel  strode  forth  into  the  village  street,  and, 
by  the  red  glow  of  a  torch,  inspected  his  new  troops. 
He  was  an  unpopular  neighbour  and  an  unpopular  mas- 
ter ;  but  as  a  leader  in  war  he  was  well-beloved  by  those 
who  rode  behind  his  pennant.  His  dash,  his  proved 
courage,  his  forethought  for  the  soldiers'  comfort,  even 
his  rough  gibes,  were  all  to  the  taste  of  the  bold  blades 
in  jack  and  salet. 

"Nay,  by  the  rood! "  he  cried,  "  what  poor  dogs  are 
these  ?  Here  be  some  as  crooked  as  a  bow,  and  some 
as  lean  as  a  spear.  Friends,  ye  shall  ride  in  the  front  of 
the  battle ;  I  can  spare  you,  friends.  Mark  me  this  old 
villain  on  the  piebald !  A  two-year  mutton  riding  on  a 
hog  would  look  more  soldierly!    Ha!  Clipsby,  are  ye 

28 


AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  SUN   IN   KETTLEY 

there,  old  rat  ?  Y'  are  a  man  I  could  lose  with  a  good 
heart;  ye  shall  go  in  front  of  all,  with  a  bull's  eye  painted 
on  your  jack,  to  be  the  better  butt  for  archery ;  sirrah, 
ye  shall  show  me  the  way." 

**I  will  show  you  any  way,  Sir  Daniel,  but  the  way 
to  change  sides,"  returned  Clipsby,  sturdily. 

Sir  Daniel  laughed  a  guffaw. 

**Why,  well  said!"  he  cried.  '*Hast  a  shrewd 
tongue  in  thy  mouth,  go  to !  I  will  forgive  you  for  that 
merry  word.  Selden,  see  them  fed,  both  man  and  brute. " 

The  knight  re-entered  the  inn. 

*'Now,  friend  Dick,"  he  said,  *'fall  to.  Here  is  good 
ale  and  bacon.     Eat,  while  that  I  read." 

Sir  Daniel  opened  the  packet,  and  as  he  read  his  brow 
darkened.  When  he  had  done  he  sat  a  little,  musing. 
Then  he  looked  sharply  at  his  ward. 

*'Dick,"  said  he,  *'y'  have  seen  this  penny  rhyme?" 

The  lad  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"It  bears  your  father's  name,"  continued  the  knight; 
"  and  our  poor  shrew  of  a  parson  is,  by  some  mad  soul, 
accused  of  slaying  him." 

**  He  did  most  eagerly  deny  it,"  answered  Dick. 

*'  He  did  ?"  cried  the  knight,  very  sharply.  **  Heed 
him  not.  He  has  a  loose  tongue;  he  babbles  like  a 
jack-sparrow.  Some  day,  when  I  may  find  the  leisure, 
Dick,  I  will  myself  more  fully  inform  you  of  these  mat- 
ters. There  was  one  Duckworth  shrewdly  blamed  for 
it;  but  the  times  were  troubled,  and  there  was  no  jus- 
tice to  be  got." 

*'\t  befell  at  the  Moat  House?"  Dick  ventured,  with 
a  beating  at  his  heart. 

*'It  befell  between  the  Moat  House  and  Holy  wood/' 

20 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

replied  Sir  Daniel,  calmly ;  but  he  shot  a  covert  glance, 
black  with  suspicion,  at  Dick's  face.  "And  now," 
added  the  knight,  '*  speed  you  with  your  meal;  ye  shall 
return  to  Tunstall  with  a  line  from  me." 

Dick's  face  fell  sorely. 

"  Prithee,  Sir  Daniel,"  he  cried,  **send  one  of  the  vil- 
lains !  I  beseech  you  let  me  to  the  battle.  I  can  strike 
a  stroke,  I  promise  you." 

"I  misdoubt  it  not,"  replied  Sir  Daniel,  sitting  down 
to  write.  '*But  here,  Dick,  is  no  honour  to  be  won. 
I  lie  in  Kettley  till  I  have  sure  tidings  of  the  war,  and 
then  ride  to  join  me  with  the  conqueror.  Cry  not  on 
cowardice ;  it  is  but  wisdom,  Dick ;  for  this  poor  realm 
so  tosseth  with  rebellion,  and  the  king's  name  and  cus- 
tody so  changeth  hands,  that  no  man  may  be  certain  of 
the  morrow.  Toss-pot  and  Shuttle-wit  run  in,  but  my 
Lord  Good-Counsel  sits  o'  one  side,  waiting." 

With  that.  Sir  Daniel,  turning  his  back  to  Dick,  and 
quite  at  the  farther  end  of  the  long  table,  began  to  write 
his  letter,  with  his  mouth  on  one  side,  for  this  business 
of  the  Black  Arrow  stuck  sorely  in  his  throat. 

Meanwhile,  young  Shelton  was  going  on  heartily 
enough  with  his  breakfast,  when  he  felt  a  touch  upon 
his  arm,  and  a  very  soft  voice  whispering  in  his  ear. 

"  Make  not  a  sign,  I  do  beseech  you,"  said  the  voice, 
**but  of  your  charity  tell  me  the  straight  way  to  Holy- 
wood.  Beseech  you,  now,  good  boy,  comfort  a  poor 
soul  in  peril  and  extreme  distress,  and  set  me  so  far 
forth  upon  the  way  to  my  repose." 

"  Take  the  path  by  the  windmill,"  answered  Dick,  in 
the  same  tone;  *Mt  will  bring  you  to  Till  Ferry;  there 
inquire  again." 

30 


AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  SUN    IN    KETTLEY 

And  without  turning  his  head,  he  fell  again  to  eating. 
But  with  the  tail  of  his  eye  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
young  lad  called  Master  John  stealthily  creeping  from 
the  room. 

"  Why,"  thought  Dick,  '*  he  is  as  young  as  I.  '  Good 
boy '  doth  he  call  me  ?  An  I  had  known,  1  should  have 
seen  the  varlet  hanged  ere  I  had  told  him.  Well,  if  he 
goes  through  the  fen,  I  may  come  up  with  him  and  pull 
his  ears." 

Half  an  hour  later,  Sir  Daniel  gave  Dick  the  letter,  and 
bade  him  speed  to  the  Moat  House.  And,  again,  some 
half  an  hour  after  Dick's  departure,  a  messenger  came, 
in  hot  haste,  from  my  Lord  of  Risingham. 

"Sir  Daniel,"  the  messenger  said,  ''ye  lose  great 
honour,  by  my  sooth !  The  fight  began  again  this  morn- 
ing ere  the  dawn,  and  we  have  beaten  their  van  and 
scattered  their  right  wing.  Only  the  main  battle  stand- 
eth  fast.  An  we  had  your  fresh  men,  we  should  tilt 
you  them  all  into  the  river.  What,  sir  knight!  Will 
ye  be  the  last  ?    It  stands  not  with  your  good  credit." 

"Nay,"  cried  the  knight,  "I  was  but  now  upon  the 
march.  Selden,  sound  me  the  tucket.  Sir,  I  am  with 
you  on  the  instant.  It  is  not  two  hours  since  the  more 
part  of  my  command  came  in,  sir  messenger.  What 
would  ye  have?  Spurring  is  good  meat,  but  yet  it 
killed  the  charger.     Bustle,  boys!" 

By  this  time  the  tucket  was  sounding  cheerily  in  the 
morning,  and  from  all  sides  Sir  Daniel's  men  poured 
into  the  main  street  and  formed  before  the  inn.  They 
had  slept  upon  their  arms,  with  chargers  saddled,  and  in 
ten  minutes  five-score  men-at-arms  and  archers,  cleanly 
equipped  and  briskly  disciplined,  stood  ranked  and  ready. 

3t 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

The  chief  part  were  in  Sir  Daniel's  livery,  murrey  and 
blue,  which  gave  the  greater  show  to  their  array.  The 
best  armed  rode  first ;  and  away  out  of  sight,  at  the  tail 
of  the  column,  came  the  sorry  reinforcement  of  the  night 
before.     Sir  Daniel  looked  with  pride  along  the  line. 

*'  Here  be  the  lads  to  serve  you  in  a  pinch,"  he  said. 

"They  are  pretty  men,  indeed,"  replied  the  mes- 
senger. *'  It  but  augments  my  sorrow  that  ye  had  not 
marched  the  earlier." 

''  Well, "  said  the  knight,  *  *  what  would  ye  ?  The  be- 
ginning of  a  feast  and  the  end  of  a  fray,  sir  messenger; " 
and  he  mounted  into  his  saddle.  '*  Why !  how  now ! " 
he  cried.  "John!  Joanna!  Nay,  by  the  sacred  rood! 
where  is  she  ?    Host,  where  is  that  girl  ?  " 

"Girl,  Sir  Daniel?"  cried  the  landlord.  "Nay,  sir, 
I  saw  no  girl." 

"Boy,  then,  dotard!"  cried  the  knight.  "Could  ye 
not  see  it  was  a  wench  ?  She  in  the  murrey-coloured 
mantle  —  she  that  broke  her  fast  with  water,  rogue  — 
where  is  she.?" 

"Nay,  the  saints  bless  us!  Master  John,  ye  called 
him,"  said  the  host.  "  Well,  I  thought  none  evil.  He 
is  gone.  I  saw  him  —  her — I  saw  her  in  the  stable  a 
good  hour  agone;  'a  was  saddling  a  grey  horse." 

"Now,  by  the  rood!"  cried  Sir  Daniel,  "the  wench 
was  worth  five  hundred  pound  to  me  and  more." 

"Sir  knight,"  observed  the  messenger,  with  bitter- 
ness, "while  that  ye  are  here,  roaring  for  five  hundred 
pounds,  the  realm  of  England  is  elsewhere  being  lost 
and  won." 

"It  is  well  said,"  replied  Sir  Daniel.  "Selden,  fall 
me  out  with  six  cross-bowmen ;  hunt  me  her  down.     I 

32 


AT  THE  SIGN   OF  THE  SUN   IN   KETTLEY 

care  not  what  it  cost;  but,  at  my  returning,  let  me  find 
her  at  the  Moat  House.  Be  it  upon  your  head.  And 
now,  sir  messenger,  we  march." 

And  the  troop  broke  into  a  good  trot,  and  Selden  and 
his  six  men  were  left  behind  upon  the  street  of  Kettley, 
with  the  staring  villagers. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  THE   FEN 

It  was  near  six  in  the  May  morning  when  Dick  began 
to  ride  down  into  the  fen  upon  his  homeward  way. 
The  sky  was  all  blue;  the  jolly  wind  blew  loud  and 
steady;  the  windmill-sails  were  spinning;  and  the  wil- 
lows over  all  the  fen  rippling  and  whitening  like  a  field 
of  corn.  He  had  been  all  night  in  the  saddle,  but  his 
heart  was  good  and  his  body  sound,  and  he  rode  right 
merrily. 

The  path  went  down  and  down  into  the  marsh,  till 
he  lost  sight  of  all  the  neighbouring  landmarks  but  Ket- 
tley  windmill  on  the  knoll  behind  him,  and  the  extreme 
top  of  Tunstall  Forest  far  before.  On  either  hand  there 
were  great  fields  of  blowing  reeds  and  willows,  pools 
of  water  shaking  in  the  wind,  and  treacherous  bogs,  as 
green  as  emerald,  to  tempt  and  to  betray  the  traveller. 
The  path  lay  almost  straight  through  the  morass.  It 
was  already  very  ancient;  its  foundation  had  been  laid 
by  Roman  soldiery ;  in  the  lapse  of  ages  much  of  it  had 
sunk,  and  every  here  and  there,  for  a  few  hundred  yards, 
it  lay  submerged  below  the  stagnant  waters  of  the  fen. 

About  a  mile  from  Kettley,  Dick  came  to  one  such 
break  in  the  plain  line  of  causeway,  where  the  reeds  and 
willows  grew  dispersedly  like  little  islands  and  confused 


IN   THE   FEN 

the  eye.  The  gap,  besides,  was  more  than  usually  long; 
it  was  a  place  where  any  stranger  might  come  readily 
to  mischief;  and  Dick  bethought  him,  with  something 
like  a  pang,  of  the  lad  whom  he  had  so  imperfectly  di- 
rected. As  for  himself,  one  look  backward  to  where 
the  windmill  sails  were  turning  black  against  the  blue 
of  heaven  —  one  look  forward  to  the  high  ground  of 
Tunstall  Forest,  and  he  was  sufficiently  directed  and 
held  straight  on,  the  water  washing  to  his  horse's  knees, 
as  safe  as  on  a  highway. 

Half-way  across,  and  when  he  had  already  sighted 
the  path  rising  high  and  dry  upon  the  farther  side,  he 
was  aware  of  a  great  splashing  on  his  right,  and  saw  a 
grey  horse,  sunk  to  its  belly  in  the  mud,  and  still  spas- 
modically struggling.  Instantly,  as  though  it  had  divined 
the  neighbourhood  of  help,  the  poor  beast  began  to 
neigh  most  piercingly.  It  rolled,  meanwhile,  a  blood- 
shot eye,  insane  with  terror;  and  as  it  sprawled  wallow- 
ing in  the  quag,  clouds  of  stinging  insects  rose  and 
buzzed  about  it  in  the  air. 

"Alack!  "  thought  Dick,  *'can  the  poor  lad  have  per- 
ished ?  There  is  his  horse,  for  certain  —  a  brave  grey! 
Nay,  comrade,  if  thou  criest  to  me  so  piteously,  I  will 
do  all  man  can  to  help  thee.  Shalt  not  lie  there  to  drown 
by  inches!" 

And  he  made  ready  his  crossbow,  and  put  a  quarrel 
through  the  creature's  head. 

Dick  rode  on  after  this  act  of  rugged  mercy,  some- 
what sobered  in  spirit,  and  looking  closely  about  him 
for  any  sign  of  his  less  happy  predecessor  in  the  way. 

"  I  would  1  had  dared  to  tell  him  further,"  he  thought; 
"for  I  fear  he  has  miscarried  in  the  slough." 

35 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

And  just  as  he  was  so  thinking,  a  voice  cried  upon 
his  name  from  the  causeway  side,  and,  looking  over  his 
shoulder,  he  saw  the  lad's  face  peering  from  a  clump  of 
reeds. 

"Are  ye  there?"  he  said,  reining  in.  *'Ye  lay  so 
close  among  the  reeds  that  I  had  passed  you  by.  I  saw 
your  horse  bemired,  and  put  him  from  his  agony ;  which, 
by  my  sooth !  an  ye  had  been  a  more  merciful  rider,  ye 
had  done  yourself  But  come  forth  out  of  your  hiding. 
Here  be  none  to  trouble  you." 

''Nay,  good  boy,  I  have  no  arms,  nor  skill  to  use 
them  if  I  had,"  replied  the  other,  stepping  forth  upon 
the  pathway. 

"  Why  call  me  '  boy '  ?  "  cried  Dick.  "  Y'  are  not,  I 
trow,  the  elder  of  us  twain." 

"  Good  Master  Shelton,"  said  the  other,  "  prithee  for- 
give me.  1  have  none  the  least  intention  to  offend. 
Rather  I  would  in  every  way  beseech  your  gentleness 
and  favour,  for  I  am  now  worse  bested  than  ever,  hav- 
ing lost  my  way,  my  cloak,  and  my  poor  horse.  To  have 
a  riding-rod  and  spurs,  and  never  a  horse  to  sit  upon ! 
And  before  all,"  he  added,  looking  ruefully  upon  his 
clothes — "  before  all,  to  be  so  sorrily  besmirched! " 

"Tut!"  cried  Dick.  "Would  ye  mind  a  ducking? 
Blood  of  wound  or  dust  of  travel—  that's  a  man's  adorn- 
ment." 

"Nay,  then,  I  like  him  better  plain,"  observed  the 
lad.  "But,  prithee,  how  shall  I  do?  Prithee,  good 
Master  Richard,  help  me  with  your  good  counsel.  If  I 
come  not  safe  to  Holy  wood,  I  am  undone." 

"Nay,"  said  Dick,  dismounting,  "I  will  give  more 
than  counsel.     Take  my  horse,  and  I  will  run  awhile, 

36 


IN  THE   FEN 

and  when  I  am  weary  we  shall  change  again,  that  so, 
riding  and  running,  both  may  go  the  speedier." 

So  the  change  was  made,  and  they  went  forward  as 
briskly  as  they  durst  on  the  uneven  causeway,  Dick 
with  his  hand  upon  the  other's  knee. 

"  How  call  ye  your  name  ?  "  asked  Dick. 

"Call  me  John  Matcham,"  replied  the  lad. 

**  And  what  make  ye  to  Holy  wood  ?  "  Dick  continued. 

"I  seek  sanctuary  from  a  man  that  would  oppress 
me, "  was  the  answer.  '  *  The  good  Abbot  of  Holy  wood 
is  a  strong  pillar  to  the  weak." 

*'And  how  came  ye  with  Sir  Daniel,  Master  Match- 
am.?"  pursued  Dick. 

**Nay,"  cried  the  other,  "by  the  abuse  of  force!  He 
hath  taken  me  by  violence  from  my  own  place;  dressed 
me  in  these  weeds ;  ridden  with  me  till  my  heart  was 
sick;  gibed  me  till  I  could  'a'  wept;  and  when  certain 
of  my  friends  pursued,  thinking  to  have  me  back,  claps 
me  in  the  rear  to  stand  their  shot !  I  was  even  grazed 
in  the  right  foot,  and  walk  but  lamely.  Nay,  there  shall 
come  a  day  between  us;  he  shall  smart  for  all! " 

"Would  ye  shoot  at  the  moon  with  a  hand-gun?" 
said  Dick.  "  Tis  a  valiant  knight,  and  hath  a  hand  of 
iron.  An  he  guessed  I  had  made  or  meddled  with  your 
flight,  it  would  go  sore  with  me." 

"Ay,  poor  boy,"  returned  the  other,  "y'  are  his 
ward,  I  know  it.  By  the  same  token,  so  am  I,  or  so  he 
saith;  or  else  he  hath  bought  my  marriage  —  1  wot  not 
rightly  which ;  but  it  is  some  handle  to  oppress  me  by.** 

"  Boy  again ! "  said  Dick. 

"Nay,  then,  shall  I  call  you  girl,  good  Richard?** 
asked  Matcham. 

37 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

** Never  a  girl  for  me,"  returned  Dick.  **  I  do  abjure 
the  crew  of  them!  " 

*  *  Ye  speak  boyishly, "  said  the  other.  * '  Ye  think  more 
of  them  than  ye  pretend." 

*'  Not  1,"  said  Dick,  stoutly.  *'  They  come  not  in  my 
mind.  A  plague  of  them,  say  I!  Give  me  to  hunt  and 
to  fight  and  to  feast,  and  to  live  with  jolly  foresters.  I 
never  heard  of  a  maid  yet  that  was  for  any  service,  save 
one  only;  and  she,  poor  shrew,  was  burned  for  a  witch 
and  the  wearing  of  men's  clothes  in  spite  of  nature." 

Master  Matcham  crossed  himself  with  fervour,  and 
appeared  to  pray. 

"What  make  ye?"  Dick  inquired. 

"I  pray  for  her  spirit,"  answered  the  other,  with  a 
somewhat  troubled  voice. 

**For  a  witch's  spirit.?"  Dick  cried.  "But  pray  for 
her,  an  ye  list;  she  was  the  best  wench  in  Europe,  was 
this  Joan  of  Arc.  Old  Appleyard  the  archer  ran  from 
her,  he  said,  as  if  she  had  been  Mahoun.  Nay,  she  was 
a  brave  wench." 

* '  Well,  but,  good  Master  Richard, "  resumed  Matcham, 
"an  ye  like  maids  so  little,  y'  are  no  true  natural  man; 
for  God  made  them  twain  by  intention,  and  brought  true 
love  into  the  world,  to  be  man's  hope  and  woman's 
comfort." 

"  Faugh ! "  said  Dick.  "  Y'  are  a  milk-sopping  baby, 
so  to  harp  on  women.  An  ye  think  1  be  no  true  man, 
get  down  upon  the  path,  and  whether  at  fists,  back- 
sword, or  bow  and  arrow,  I  will  prove  my  manhood 
on  your  body." 

"Nay,  I  am  no  fighter,"  said  Matcham,  eagerly.  "I 
mean  no  tittle  of  offence.      I  meant  but  pleasantry. 

38 


IN  THE  FEN 

And  if  I  talk  of  women,  it  is  because  I  heard  ye  were 
to  marry." 

*M  to  marry ! "  Dick  exclaimed.  **  Well,  it  is  the  first 
I  hear  of  it.     And  with  whom  was  I  to  marry?" 

* '  One  Joan  Sedley, "  replied  Matcham,  colouring.  *  *  It 
was  Sir  Daniel's  doing;  he  hath  money  to  gain  upon 
both  sides;  and,  indeed,  I  have  heard  the  poor  wench 
bemoaning  herself  pitifully  of  the  match.  It  seems  she 
is  of  your  mind,  or  else  distasted  to  the  bridegroom." 

"Well!  marriage  is  like  death,  it  comes  to  all,"  said 
Dick,  with  resignation.  "And  she  bemoaned  herself? 
I  pray  ye  now,  see  there  how  shuttle-witted  are  these 
girls :  to  bemoan  herself  before  that  she  had  seen  me !  Do 
I  bemoan  myself?  Not  I.  An  I  be  to  marry,  I  will  marry 
dry-eyed!  But  if  ye  know  her,  prithee,  of  what  favour 
is  she  ?  fair  or  foul  ?  And  is  she  shrewish  or  pleasant  ?  " 

"  Nay,  what  matters  it  ?"  said  Matcham.  "  An  y'  are 
to  marry,  ye  can  but  marry.  What  matters  foul  or  fair  ? 
These  be  but  toys.  Y'  are  no  milksop.  Master  Richard; 
ye  will  wed  with  dry  eyes,  anyhow." 

"  It  is  well  said,"  replied  Shelton.    "  Little  I  reck." 

"  Your  lady  wife  is  like  to  have  a  pleasant  lord,"  said 
Matcham. 

"She  shall  have  the  lord  Heaven  made  her  for,"  re- 
turned Dick.    "I  trow  there  be  worse  as  well  as  better." 

"  Ah,  the  poor  wench! "  cried  the  other. 

"And  why  so  poor?"  asked  Dick. 

"To  wed  a  man  of  wood,"  replied  his  companion. 
"  O  me,  for  a  wooden  husband!  " 

"I  think  I  be  a  man  of  wood,  indeed,"  said  Dick,  "to 
trudge  afoot  the  while  you  ride  my  horse ;  but  it  is  good 
wood,  1  trow." 

39 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

**Good  Dick,  forgive  me,"  cried  the  other.  *'Nay, 
y'  are  the  best  heart  in  England ;  I  but  laughed.  For- 
give me  now,  sweet  Dick." 

''Nay,  no  fool  words,"  returned  Dick,  a  little  embar- 
rassed by  his  companion's  warmth.  "No  harm  is  done. 
I  am  not  touchy,  praise  the  saints." 

And  at  that  moment  the  wind,  which  was  blowing 
straight  behind  them  as  they  went,  brought  them  the 
rough  flourish  of  Sir  Daniel's  trumpeter. 

" Hark! "  said  Dick,  ''the  tucket  soundeth." 

"Ay,"  said  Matcham,  "they  have  found  my  flight, 
and  now  I  am  unhorsed ! "  and  he  became  pale  as  death. 

' '  Nay,  what  cheer ! "  returned  Dick.  ' '  Y'  have  a  long 
start,  and  we  are  near  the  ferry.  And  it  is  I,  methinks, 
that  am  unhorsed." 

' '  Alack,  I  shall  be  taken ! "  cried  the  fugitive.  ' '  Dick, 
kind  Dick,  beseech  ye  help  me  but  a  little!  " 

"Why,  now,  what  aileth  thee.^"  said  Dick.  "Me- 
thinks 1  help  you  very  patently.  But  my  heart  is  sorry 
for  so  spiritless  a  fellow!  And  see  ye  here,  John  Mat- 
cham—  sith  John  Matcham  is  your  name  —  1,  Richard 
Shelton,  tide  what  betideth,  come  what  may,  will  see 
you  safe  in  Holywood.  The  saints  so  do  to  me  again 
if  1  default  you.  Come,  pick  me  up  a  good  heart.  Sir 
White-face.  The  way  betters  here ;  spur  me  the  horse. 
Go  faster!  faster!  Nay,  mind  not  for  me;  I  can  run  like 
a  deer." 

So,  with  the  horse  trotting  hard,  and  Dick  running 
easily  alongside,  they  crossed  the  remainder  of  the  fen, 
and  came  out  upon  the  banks  of  the  river  by  the  ferry- 
man's hut. 


40 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   FEN   FERRY 

The  river  Till  was  a  wide,  sluggish,  clayey  water, 
oozing  out  of  fens,  and  in  this  part  of  its  course  it 
strained  among  some  score  of  willow-covered,  marshy 
islets. 

It  was  a  dingy  stream ;  but  upon  this  bright,  spirited 
morning  everything  was  become  beautiful.  The  wind 
and  the  martens  broke  it  up  into  innumerable  dimples; 
and  the  reflection  of  the  sky  was  scattered  over  all  the 
surface  in  crumbs  of  smiling  blue. 

A  creek  ran  up  to  meet  the  path,  and  close  under  the 
bank  the  ferryman's  hut  lay  snugly.  It  was  of  wattle 
and  clay,  and  the  grass  grew  green  upon  the  roof. 

Dick  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  Within,  upon 
a  foul  old  russet  cloak,  the  ferryman  lay  stretched  and 
shivering;  a  great  hulk  of  a  man,  but  lean  and  shaken 
by  the  country  fever. 

'  *  Hey,  Master  Shelton, "  he  said,  * '  be  ye  for  the  ferry  ? 
Ill  times,  ill  times !  Look  to  yourself.  There  is  a  fellow- 
ship abroad.  Ye  were  better  turn  round  on  your  two 
heels  and  try  the  bridge." 

*  *  Nay ;  time's  in  the  saddle, "  answered  Dick.  * '  Time 
will  ride,  Hugh  Ferryman.     1  am  hot  in  haste." 

"A  wilful  man!"  returned  the  ferryman,  rising. 
4» 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

*'  An  ye  win  safe  to  the  Moat  House,  y*  have  done  lucky; 
but  I  say  no  more."  And  then  catching  sight  of 
Matcham,  **  Who  be  this?"  he  asked,  as  he  paused, 
blinking,  on  the  threshold  of  his  cabin. 

"It  is  my  kinsman,  Master  Matcham,"  answered 
Dick. 

"Give  ye  good  day,  good  ferryman," said  Matcham, 
who  had  dismounted,  and  now  came  forward,  leading 
the  horse.  "Launch  me  your  boat,  I  prithee;  we  are 
sore  in  haste." 

The  gaunt  ferryman  continued  staring. 

"  By  the  mass ! "  he  cried  at  length,  and  laughed  with 
open  throat. 

Matcham  coloured  to  his  neck  and  winced;  and  Dick, 
with  an  angry  countenance,  put  his  hand  on  the  lout's 
shoulder. 

"How  now,  churl!"  he  cried.  "Fall  to  thy  busi- 
ness, and  leave  mocking  thy  betters." 

Hugh  Ferryman  grumblingly  undid  his  boat,  and 
shoved  it  a  little  forth  into  the  deep  water.  Then  Dick 
led  in  the  horse,  and  Matcham  followed. 

"  Ye  be  mortal  small  made,  master,"  said  Hugh,  with 
a  wide  grin;  "something  o'  the  wrong  model,  belike. 
Nay,  Master  Shelton,  I  am  for  you,"  he  added,  getting 
to  his  oars.  "  A  cat  may  look  at  a  king.  I  did  but  take 
a  shot  of  the  eye  at  Master  Matcham." 

"Sirrah,  no  more  words,"  said  Dick.  "Bend  me 
your  back." 

They  were  by  that  time  at  the  mouth  of  the  creek, 
and  the  view  opened  up  and  down  the  river.  Every- 
where it  was  enclosed  with  islands.  Clay  banks  were 
falling  in,  willows  nodding,  reeds  waving,  martens  dip- 

42 


THE  FEN   FERRY 

ping  and  piping.  There  was  no  sign  of  man  in  the 
labyrinth  of  waters. 

"My  master,"  said  the  ferryman,  keeping  the  boat 
steady  with  one  oar,  *'  I  have  a  shrew  guess  that  John- 
a-Fenne  is  on  the  island.  He  bears  me  a  black  grudge 
to  all  Sir  Daniel's.  How  if  1  turned  me  up  stream  and 
landed  you  an  arrow-flight  above  the  path  ?  Ye  were 
best  not  meddle  with  John  Fenne." 

"  How,  then  ?  is  he  of  this  company  ?"  asked  Dick. 

"  Nay,  mum  is  the  word,"  said  Hugh.  "  But  1  would 
go  up  water,  Dick.  How  if  Master  Matcham  came  by 
an  arrow  ?  "  and  he  laughed  again. 

"Be  it  so,  Hugh,"  answered  Dick. 

"Look  ye,  then,"  pursued  Hugh.  "Sith  it  shall  so 
be,  unsling  me  your  cross-bow  —  so:  now  make  it 
ready  —  good ;  place  me  a  quarrel.  Ay,  keep  it  so,  and 
look  upon  me  grimly." 

"What  meaneth  this?"  asked  Dick. 

"Why,  my  master,  if  I  steal  you  across,  it  must  be 
under  force  or  fear,"  replied  the  ferryman ;  "for  else,  if 
John  Fenne  got  wind  of  it,  he  were  like  to  prove  my 
most  distressful  neighbour." 

"Do  these  churls  ride  so  roughly?"  Dick  inquired. 
"  Do  they  command  Sir  Daniel's  own  ferry  ?" 

"Nay,"  whispered  the  ferryman,  winking.  "Mark 
me!  Sir  Daniel  shall  down.  His  time  is  out.  He  shall 
down.     Mum ! "     And  he  bent  over  his  oars. 

They  pulled  a  long  way  up  the  river,  turned  the  tail 
of  an  island,  and  came  softly  down  a  narrow  channel 
next  the  opposite  bank.  Then  Hugh  held  water  in  mid- 
stream. 

"  I  must  land  you  here  among  the  willows,"  he  said. 
4? 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

'*Here  is  no  path  but  willow  swamps  and  quag- 
mires," answered  Dick. 

"  Master  Shelton,"  replied  Hugh,  "  I  dare  not  take  ye 
nearer  down,  for  your  own  sake  now.  He  watcheth 
me  the  ferry,  lying  on  his  bow.  All  that  go  by  and 
owe  Sir  Daniel  goodwill,  he  shooteth  down  like  rabbits. 
I  heard  him  swear  it  by  the  rood.  An  I  had  not  known 
you  of  old  days  —  ay,  and  from  so  high  upward  —  I 
would  'a'  let  you  go  on ;  but  for  old  days'  remembrance, 
and  because  ye  had  this  toy  with  you  that's  not  fit  for 
wounds  or  warfare,  I  did  risk  my  two  poor  ears  to  have 
you  over  whole.  Content  you;  I  can  no  more,  on  my 
salvation ! " 

Hugh  was  still  speaking,  lying  on  his  oars,  when 
there  came  a  great  shout  from  among  the  willows  on 
the  island,  and  sounds  followed  as  of  a  strong  man 
breasting  roughly  through  the  wood. 

"  A  murrain ! "  cried  Hugh.  *'  He  was  on  the  upper 
island  all  the  while!"  He  pulled  straight  for  shore. 
"  Threat  me  with  your  bow,  good  Dick ;  threat  me  with 
it  plain,"  he  added.  *'I  have  tried  to  save  your  skins, 
save  you  mine!" 

The  boat  ran  into  a  tough  thicket  of  willows  with  a 
crash.  Matcham,  pale,  but  steady  and  alert,  at  a  sign 
from  Dick,  ran  along  the  thwarts  and  leaped  ashore; 
Dick,  taking  the  horse  by  the  bridle,  sought  to  follow, 
but  what  with  the  animal's  bulk,  and  what  with  the 
closeness  of  the  thicket,  both  stuck  fast.  The  horse 
neighed  and  trampled ;  and  the  boat,  which  was  swing- 
ing in  an  eddy,  came  on  and  off  and  pitched  with  vio- 
lence. 

"It  may  not  be,  Hugh;  here  is  no  landing,"  cried 
44 


THE   FEN   FERRY 

Dick ;  but  he  still  struggled  valiantly  with  the  obstinate 
thicket  and  the  startled  animal. 

A  tall  man  appeared  upon  the  shore  of  the  island,  a 
long-bow  in  his  hand.  Dick  saw  him  for  an  instant, 
with  the  corner  of  his  eye,  bending  the  bow  with  a 
great  effort,  his  face  crimson  with  hurry. 

"  Who  goes  ?  "  he  shouted.     "  Hugh,  who  goes  ?" 

"Tis  Master  Shelton,  John,"  replied  the  ferryman. 

"Stand,  Dick  Shelton!"  bawled  the  man  upon  the 
island.  '  *  Ye  shall  have  no  hurt,  upon  the  rood !  Stand ! 
Back  out,  Hugh  Ferryman." 

Dick  cried  a  taunting  answer. 

*'Nay,  then,  ye  shall  go  afoot,"  returned  the  man; 
and  he  let  drive  an  arrow. 

The  horse,  struck  by  the  shaft,  lashed  out  in  agony 
and  terror;  the  boat  capsized,  and  the  next  moment  all 
were  struggling  in  the  eddies  of  the  river. 

When  Dick  came  up,  he  was  within  a  yard  of  the 
bank;  and  before  his  eyes  were  clear,  his  hand  had 
closed  on  something  firm  and  strong  that  instantly  be- 
gan to  drag  him  forward.  It  was  the  riding-rod,  that 
Matcham,  crawling  forth  upon  an  overhanging  willow, 
had  opportunely  thrust  into  his  grasp. 

* '  By  the  mass !  "  cried  Dick,  as  he  was  helped  ashore, 
"  that  makes  a  life  I  owe  you.  I  swim  like  a  cannon- 
ball."    And  he  turned  instantly  towards  the  island. 

Midway  over,  Hugh  Ferryman  was  swimming  with 
his  upturned  boat,  while  John-a-Fenne,  furious  at  the 
ill-fortune  of  his  shot,  bawled  to  him  to  hurry. 

"Come,  Jack,"  said  Shelton,  "run  for  it!  Ere  Hugh 
can  hale  his  barge  across,  or  the  pair  of  'em  can  get  it 
righted,  we  may  be  out  of  cry." 

45 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

And  adding  example  to  his  words,  he  began  to  run, 
dodging  among  the  willows,  and  in  marshy  places  leap- 
ing from  tussock  to  tussock.  He  had  no  time  to  look 
for  his  direction ;  all  he  could  do  was  to  turn  his  back 
upon  the  river,  and  put  all  his  heart  to  running. 

Presently,  however,  the  ground  began  to  rise,  which 
showed  him  he  was  still  in  the  right  way,  and  soon 
after  they  came  forth  upon  a  slope  of  solid  turf,  where 
elms  began  to  mingle  with  the  willows. 

But  here  Matcham,  who  had  been  dragging  far  into 
the  rear,  threw  himself  fairly  down. 

"Leave  me,  Dick!"  he  cried,  pantingly;  *'I  can  no 
more." 

Dick  turned,  and  came  back  to  where  his  companion 
lay. 

**Nay,  Jack,  leave  thee!"  he  cried.  **That  were  a 
knave's  trick,  to  be  sure,  when  ye  risked  a  shot  and  a 
ducking,  ay,  and  a  drowning  too,  to  save  my  life. 
Drowning,  in  sooth;  for  why  I  did  not  pull  you  in 
along  with  me,  the  saints  alone  can  telll " 

"Nay,"  said  Matcham,  "I  would  V  saved  us  both, 
good  Dick,  for  I  can  swim." 

"Can  ye  so?"  cried  Dick,  with  open  eyes.  It  was 
the  one  manly  accomplishment  of  which  he  was  him- 
self incapable.  In  the  order  of  the  things  that  he  ad- 
mired, next  to  having  killed  a  man  in  single  fight  came 
swimming.  "Well,"  he  said,  "here  is  a  lesson  to  de- 
spise no  man.  I  promised  to  care  for  you  as  far  as 
Holy  wood,  and,  by  the  rood.  Jack,  y'  are  more  capable 
to  care  for  me." 

"Well,  Dick,  we're  friends  now,"  said  Matcham. 

"Nay,  I  never  was  unfriends,"  answered  Dick.  "  Y* 
46 


THE   FEN   FERRY 

are  a  brave  lad  in  your  way,  albeit  something  of  a  milk- 
sop, too.  I  never  met  your  like  before  this  day.  But, 
prithee,  fetch  back  your  breath,  and  let  us  on.  Here  is 
no  place  for  chatter." 

"  My  foot  hurts  shrewdly,"  said  Matcham. 

*'  Nay,  I  had  forgot  your  foot,"  returned  Dick.  '*  Well, 
we  must  go  the  gentlier.  I  would  1  knew  rightly 
where  we  were.  I  have  clean  lost  the  path;  yet  that 
may  be  for  the  better,  too.  An  they  watch  the  ferry, 
they  watch  the  path,  belike,  as  well.  I  would  Sir 
Daniel  were  back  with  two  score  men ;  he  would  sweep 
me  these  rascals  as  the  wind  sweeps  leaves.  Come,  Jack, 
lean  ye  on  my  shoulder,  ye  poor  shrew.  Nay,  y'  are  not 
tall  enough.    What  age  are  ye,  for  a  wager? — twelve  ?" 

"Nay,  I  am  sixteen,"  said  Matcham. 

**Y*  are  poorly  grown  to  height,  then,"  answered 
Dick.  *'  But  take  my  hand.  We  shall  go  softly,  never 
fear.  I  owe  you  a  life ;  I  am  a  good  repay er,  Jack,  of 
good  or  evil." 

They  began  to  go  forward  up  the  slope. 

"We  must  hit  the  road,  early  or  late,"  continued 
Dick;  "and  then  for  a  fresh  start.  By  the  mass!  but 
y'  'ave  a  rickety  hand.  Jack.  If  1  had  a  hand  like  that, 
I  would  think  shame.  I  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  with  a 
sudden  chuckle,  "I  swear  by  the  mass  I  believe  Hugh 
Ferryman  took  you  for  a  maid." 

"Nay,  never!"  cried  the  other,  colouring  high. 

"A'  did,  though,  for  a  wager!"  Dick  exclaimed. 
"Small  blame  to  him.  Ye  look  liker  maid  than  man; 
and  I  tell  you  more  —  y'  are  a  strange-looking  rogue  for 
a  boy;  but  for  a  hussy.  Jack,  ye  would  be  right  fair  — 
ye  would.     Ye  would  be  well  favoured  for  a  wench." 

47 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

"  Well,"  said  Matcham,  ''ye  know  right  well  that  I 
am  none." 

''Nay,  I  know  that;  I  do  but  jest,"  said  Dick.  "  Ye'U 
be  a  man  before  your  mother.  Jack.  What  cheer,  my 
bully !  Ye  shall  strike  shrewd  strokes.  Now,  which, 
I  marvel,  of  you  or  me,  shall  be  first  knighted.  Jack  ? 
for  knighted  I  shall  be,  or  die  for  't.  '  Sir  Richard  Shel- 
ton.  Knight ' :  it  soundeth  bravely.  But  '  Sir  John 
Matcham'  soundeth  not  amiss." 

"Prithee,  Dick,  stop  till  I  drink,"  said  the  other,  paus- 
ing where  a  little  clear  spring  welled  out  of  the  slope 
into  a  gravelled  basin  no  bigger  than  a  pocket.  "And 
O,  Dick,  if  1  might  come  by  anything  to  eat !  —  my  very 
heart  aches  with  hunger." 

"Why,  fool,  did  ye  not  eat  at  Kettley  ?"  asked  Dick. 

"I  had  made  a  vow  —  it  was  a  sin  I  had  been  led 
into,"  stammered  Matcham;  "but  now,  if  it  were  but 
dry  bread,  I  would  eat  it  greedily." 

"Sit  ye,  then,  and  eat,"  said  Dick,  "while  that  I 
scout  a  little  forward  for  the  road."  And  he  took  a 
wallet  from  his  girdle,  wherein  were  bread  and  pieces 
of  dry  bacon,  and,  while  Matcham  fell  heartily  to,  struck 
farther  forth  among  the  trees. 

A  little  beyond  there  was  a  dip  in  the  ground,  where 
a  streamlet  soaked  among  dead  leaves;  and  beyond 
that,  again,  the  trees  were  better  grown  and  stood 
wider,  and  oak  and  beech  began  to  take  the  place  of 
willow  and  elm.  The  continued  tossing  and  pouring 
of  the  wind  among  the  leaves  sufficiently  concealed  the 
sounds  of  his  footsteps  on  the  mast ;  it  was  for  the  ear 
what  a  moonless  night  is  to  the  eye ;  but  for  all  that 
Dick  went  cautiously,  slipping  from  one  big  trunk  to 

48 


THE  FEN   FERRY 

another,  and  looking  sharply  about  him  as  he  went. 
Suddenly  a  doe  passed  like  a  shadow  through  the  un- 
derwood in  front  of  him,  and  he  paused,  disgusted  at 
the  chance.  This  part  of  the  wood  had  been  certainly 
deserted,  but  now  that  the  poor  deer  had  run,  she  was 
like  a  messenger  he  should  have  sent  before  him  to  an- 
nounce his  coming;  and  instead  of  pushing  farther,  he 
turned  him  to  the  nearest  well-grown  tree,  and  rapidly 
began  to  climb. 

Luck  had  served  him  well.  The  oak  on  which  he 
had  mounted  was  one  of  the  tallest  in  that  quarter  of 
the  wood,  and  easily  out-topped  its  neighbours  by  a 
fathom  and  a  half;  and  when  Dick  had  clambered  into 
the  topmost  fork  and  clung  there,  swinging  dizzily  in 
the  great  wind,  he  saw  behind  him  the  whole  fenny 
plain  as  far  as  Kettley,  and  the  Till  wandering  among 
woody  islets,  and  in  front  of  him,  the  white  line  of  high- 
road winding  through  the  forest.  The  boat  had  been 
righted  —  it  was  even  now  midway  on  the  ferry.  Be- 
yond that  there  was  no  sign  of  man,  nor  aught  moving 
but  the  wind.  He  was  about  to  descend,  when,  taking 
a  last  view,  his  eye  lit  upon  a  strnig  of  moving  points 
about  the  middle  of  the  fen.  Plainly  a  small  troop  was 
threading  the  causeway,  and  that  at  a  good  pace ;  and 
this  gave  him  some  concern  as  he  shinned  vigorously 
down  the  trunk  and  returned  across  the  wood  for  his 
companion. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  GREENWOOD   COMPANY 

Matcham  was  well  rested  and  revived ;  and  the  two 
lads,  winged  by  what  Dick  had  seen,  hurried  through 
the  remainder  of  the  outwood,  crossed  the  road  in  safety, 
and  began  to  mount  into  the  high  ground  of  Tunstall 
Forest.  The  trees  grew  more  and  more  in  groves,  with 
heathy  places  in  between,  sandy,  gorsy,  and  dotted  with 
old  yews.  The  ground  became  more  and  more  uneven, 
full  of  pits  and  hillocks.  And  with  every  step  of  the 
ascent  the  wind  still  blew  the  shriller,  and  the  trees 
bent  before  the  gusts  like  fishing-rods. 

They  had  just  entered  one  of  the  clearings,  when 
Dick  suddenly  clapped  down  upon  his  face  among  the 
brambles,  and  began  to  crawl  slowly  backward  towards 
the  shelter  of  the  grove.  Matcham,  in  great  bewilder- 
ment, for  he  could  see  no  reason  for  this  flight,  still 
imitated  his  companion's  course ;  and  it  was  not  until 
they  had  gained  the  harbour  of  a  thicket  that  he  turned 
and  begged  him  to  explain. 

For  all  reply,  Dick  pointed  with  his  finger. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  clearing,  a  fir  grew  high  above 
the  neighbouring  wood,  and  planted  its  black  shock  of 
foliage  clear  against  the  sky.  For  about  fifty  feet  above 
the  ground  the  trunk  grew  straight  and  solid  like  a  col- 

50 


A   GREENWOOD   COMPANY 

umn.  At  that  level,  it  split  into  two  massive  boughs; 
and  in  the  fork,  like  a  mast-headed  seaman,  there  stood 
a  man  in  a  green  tabard,  spying  far  and  wide.  The  sun 
glistened  upon  his  hair;  with  one  hand  he  shaded  his 
eyes  to  look  abroad,  and  he  kept  slowly  rolling  his  head 
from  side  to  side,  with  the  regularity  of  a  machine. 

The  lads  exchanged  glances. 

"  Let  us  try  to  the  left,"  said  Dick.  "We  had  near 
fallen  foully,  Jack." 

Ten  minutes  afterwards  they  struck  into  a  beaten  path. 

"  Here  is  a  piece  of  forest  that  1  know  not,"  Dick  re- 
marked.    "  Where  goeth  me  this  track  ?  " 

**Let  us  even  try,"  said  Matcham. 

A  few  yards  further,  the  path  came  to  the  top  of  a  ridge 
and  began  to  go  down  abruptly  into  a  cup-shaped  hollow. 
At  the  foot,  out  of  a  thick  wood  of  flowering  hawthorn, 
two  or  three  roofless  gables,  blackened  as  if  by  fire,  and 
a  single  tall  chimney  marked  the  ruins  of  a  house. 

**  What  may  this  be  ?"  whispered  Matcham. 

"Nay,  by  the  mass,  I  know  not,"  answered  Dick. 
"  I  am  all  at  sea.     Let  us  go  warily." 

With  beating  hearts,  they  descended  through  the  haw- 
thorns. Here  and  there,  they  passed  signs  of  recent 
cultivation;  fruit  trees  and  pot  herbs  ran  wild  among 
the  thicket;  a  sun-dial  had  fallen  in  the  grass;  it  seemed 
they  were  treading  what  once  had  been  a  garden.  Yet 
a  little  farther  and  they  came  forth  before  the  ruins  of 
the  house. 

It  had  been  a  pleasant  mansion  and  a  strong.  A  dry 
ditch  was  dug  deep  about  it;  but  it  was  now  choked 
with  masonry,  and  bridged  by  a  fallen  rafter.  The  two 
farther  walls  still  stood,  the  sun  shining  through  their 

51 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

empty  windows;  but  the  remainder  of  the  building  had 
collapsed,  and  now  lay  in  a  great  cairn  of  ruin,  grimed 
with  fire.  Already  in  the  interior  a  few  plants  were 
springing  green  among  the  chinks. 

*' Nx)w  I  bethink  me,"  whispered  Dick,  "this  must  be 
Grimstone.  It  was  a  hold  of  one  Simon  Malmesbury ; 
Sir  Daniel  was  his  bane!  Twas  Bennet  Hatch  that 
burned  it,  now  five  years  agone.  In  sooth,  'twas  pity, 
for  it  was  a  fair  house." 

Down  in  the  hollow,  where  no  wind  blew,  it  was 
both  warm  and  still;  and  Matcham,  laying  one  hand 
upon  Dick's  arm,  held  up  a  warning  finger. 

"Hist!"  he  said. 

Then  came  a  strange  sound,  breaking  on  the  quiet. 
It  was  twice  repeated  ere  they  recognised  its  nature. 
It  was  the  sound  of  a  big  man  clearing  his  throat;  and 
just  then  a  hoarse,  untuneful  voice  broke  into  singing. 

"Then  up  and  spake  the  master,  the  king  of  the  outlaws: 

*  What  make  ye  here,  my  merry  men,  among  the  greenwood  shaws?' 
And  Gamelyn  made  answer — he  looked  never  adown: 

*  O,  they  must  need  to  walk  in  wood  that  may  not  walk  in  town! ' " 

The  singer  paused,  a  faint  clink  of  iron  followed,  and 
then  silence. 

The  two  lads  stood  looking  at  each  other.  Whoever 
he  might  be,  their  invisible  neighbour  was  just  beyond 
the  ruin.  And  suddenly  the  colour  came  into  Matcham's 
face,  and  next  moment  he  had  crossed  the  fallen  rafter, 
and  was  climbing  cautiously  on  the  huge  pile  of  lumber 
that  filled  the  interior  of  the  roofless  house.  Dick  would 
have  withheld  him,  had  he  been  in  time;  as  it  was,  he 
was  fain  to  follow. 

52 


A  GREENWOOD   COMPANY 

Right  in  the  corner  of  the  ruin,  two  rafters  had  fallen 
crosswise,  and  protected  a  clear  space  no  larger  than  a 
pew  in  church.  Into  this  the  lads  silently  lowered 
themselves.  There  they  were  perfectly  concealed,  and 
through  an  arrow-loophole  commanded  a  view  upon 
the  farther  side. 

Peering  through  this,  they  were  struck  stiff  with  ter- 
ror at  their  predicament.  To  retreat  was  impossible; 
they  scarce  dared  to  breathe.  Upon  the  very  margin 
of  the  ditch,  not  thirty  feet  from  where  they  crouched, 
an  iron  caldron  bubbled  and  steamed  above  a  glowing 
fire ;  and  close  by,  in  an  attitude  of  listening,  as  though 
he  had  caught  some  sound  of  their  clambering  among 
the  ruins,  a  tall,  red-faced,  battered-looking  man  stood 
poised,  an  iron  spoon  in  his  right  hand,  a  horn  and  a 
formidable  dagger  at  his  belt.  Plainly  this  was-  the 
singer;  plainly  he  had  been  stirring  the  caldron,  when 
some  incautious  step  among  the  lumber  had  fallen  upon 
his  ear.  A  little  further  off,  another  man  lay  slumbering, 
rolled  in  a  brown  cloak,  with  a  butterfly  hovering  above 
his  face.  All  this  was  in  a  clearing  white  with  daisies; 
and  at  the  extreme  verge,  a  bow,  a  sheaf  of  arrows,  and 
part  of  a  deer's  carcase,  hung  upon  a  flowering  haw- 
thorn. 

Presently  the  fellow  relaxed  from  his  attitude  of  atten- 
tion, raised  the  spoon  to  his  mouth,  tasted  its  contents, 
nodded,  and  then  fell  again  to  stirring  and  singing. 

"  *  O,  they  must  need  to  walk  in  wood  that  may  not 
walk  in  town,'  "  he  croaked,  taking  up  his  song  where 
he  had  left  it. 

"  O,  sir,  we  walk  not  here  at  all  an  evil  thing  to  do. 
But  if  we  meet  with  the  good  king's  deer  to  shoot  a  shaft  into. " 
53 


THE   BLACK   ARROW 

Still  as  he  sang,  he  took  from  time  to  time  another 
spoonful  of  the  broth,  blew  upon  it,  and  tasted  it,  with 
all  the  airs  of  an  experienced  cook.  At  length,  appar- 
ently, he  judged  the  mess  was  ready;  for  taking  the 
horn  from  his  girdle,  he  blew  three  modulated  calls. 

The  other  fellow  awoke,  rolled  over,  brushed  away 
the  butterfly,  and  looked  about  him. 

"  How  now,  brother  ?  "  he  said.     "  Dinner  ?  " 

**  Ay,  sot,"  replied  the  cook,  **  dinner  it  is,  and  a  dry 
dinner,  too,  with  neither  ale  nor  bread.  But  there  is 
little  pleasure  in  the  greenwood  now;  time  was  when 
a  good  fellow  could  live  here  like  a  mitred  abbot,  set 
aside  the  rain  and  the  white  frosts ;  he  had  his  heart's 
desire  both  of  ale  and  wine.  But  now  are  men's  spirits 
dead;  and  this  John  Amend-All,  save  us  and  guard  us! 
but  a  stuffed  booby  to  scare  crows  withal." 

''Nay,"  returned  the  other,  "y'  are  too  set  on  meat 
and  drinking,  Lawless.  Bide  ye  a  bit;  the  good  time 
Cometh." 

"  Look  ye,"  returned  the  cook,  "  I  have  even  waited 
for  this  good  time  sith  that  I  was  so  high.  I  have  been  a 
grey  friar;  I  have  been  a  king's  archer;  I  have  been  a 
shipman,  and  sailed  the  salt  seas;  and  I  have  been  in 
greenwood  before  this,  forsooth!  and  shot  the  king's 
deer.  What  cometh  of  it  ?  Naught !  I  were  better  to 
have  bided  in  the  cloister.  John  Abbot  availeth  more 
than  John  Amend- All.     By  *r  Lady!  here  they  come." 

One  after  another,  tall,  likely  fellows  began  to  stroll 
into  the  lawn.  Each  as  he  came  produced  a  knife  and 
a  horn  cup,  helped  himself  from  the  caldron,  and  sat 
down  upon  the  grass  to  eat.  They  were  very  variously 
equipped  and  armed;  some  in  rusty  smocks,  and  with 

54 


A   GREENWOOD   COMPANY 

nothing  but  a  knife  and  an  old  bow;  others  in  the  height 
of  forest  gallantry,  all  in  Lincoln  green,  both  hood  and 
jerkin,  with  dainty  peacock  arrows  in  their  belts,  a  horn 
upon  a  baldrick,  and  a  sword  and  dagger  at  their  sides. 
They  came  in  the  silence  of  hunger,  and  scarce  growled 
a  salutation,  but  fell  instantly  to  meat. 

There  were,  perhaps,  a  score  of  them  already  gathered, 
when  a  sound  of  suppressed  cheering  arose  close  by 
among  the  hawthorns,  and  immediately  after  five  or 
six  woodmen  carrying  a  stretcher  debouched  upon  the 
lawn.  A  tall,  lusty  fellow,  somewhat  grizzled,  and  as 
brown  as  a  smoked  ham,  walked  before  them  with  an 
air  of  some  authority,  his  bow  at  his  back,  a  bright 
boar-spear  in  his  hand. 

*'Lads!  "  he  cried,  ''good  fellows  all,  and  my  right 
merry  friends,  y'  have  sung  this  while  on  a  dry  whistle 
and  lived  at  little  ease.  But  what  said  I  ever  ?  Abide 
Fortune  constantly;  she  turneth,  turneth  swift.  And 
lo !  here  is  her  little  firstling  —  even  that  good  creature, 
ale!" 

There  was  a  murmur  of  applause  as  the  bearers  set 
down  the  stretcher  and  displayed  a  goodly  cask. 

*'And  now  haste  ye,  boys,"  the  man  continued. 
"There  is  work  toward.  A  handful  of  archers  are  but 
now  come  to  the  ferry;  murrey  and  blue  is  their  wear; 
they  are  our  butts  —  they  shall  all  taste  arrows  —  no  man 
of  them  shall  struggle  through  this  wood.  For,  lads, 
we  are  here  some  fifty  strong,  each  man  of  us  most 
foully  wronged;  for  some  they  have  lost  lands,  and 
some  friends;  and  some  they  have  been  outlawed  —  all 
oppressed !  Who,  then,  hath  done  this  evil  ?  Sir  Daniel, 
by  the  rood !    Shall  he  then  profit  ?  shall  he  sit  snug  in 

55 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

our  houses  ?  shall  he  till  our  fields  ?  shall  he  suck  the 
bone  he  robbed  us  of  ?  I  trow  not.  He  getteth  him 
strength  at  law;  he  gaineth  cases;  nay,  there  is  one 
case  he  shall  not  gain  —  I  have  a  writ  here  at  my  belt 
that,  please  the  saints,  shall  conquer  him." 

Lawless  the  cook  was  by  this  time  already  at  his  second 
horn  of  ale.     He  raised  it,  as  if  to  pledge  the  speaker. 

'*  Master  Ellis,"  he  said,  "y'  are  for  vengeance  —  well 
it  becometh  you!  —  but  your  poor  brother  o'  the  green- 
wood, that  had  never  lands  to  lose  nor  friends  to  think 
upon,  looketh  rather,  for  his  poor  part,  to  the  profit  of 
the  thing.  He  had  liever  a  gold  noble  and  a  pottle  of 
canary  wine  than  all  the  vengeances  in  purgatory." 

'* Lawless,"  replied  the  other,  "to  reach  the  Moat 
House,  Sir  Daniel  must  pass  the  forest.  We  shall  make 
that  passage  dearer,  pardy,  than  any  battle.  Then,  when 
he  hath  got  to  earth  with  such  ragged  handful  as  es- 
capeth  us  —  all  his  great  friends  fallen  and  fled  away, 
and  none  to  give  him  aid  —  we  shall  beleaguer  that  old 
fox  about,  and  great  shall  be  the  fall  of  him.  'Tis  a  fat 
buck;  he  will  make  a  dinner  for  us  all." 

"  Ay,"  returned  Lawless,  ''  I  have  eaten  many  of  these 
dinners  beforehand;  but  the  cooking  of  them  is  hot 
work,  good  Master  Ellis.  And  meanwhile  what  do  we  ? 
We  make  black  arrows,  we  write  rhymes,  and  we  drink 
fair  cold  water,  that  discomfortable  drink." 

*' Y'  are  untrue.  Will  Lawless.  Ye  still  smell  of  the 
Grey  Friars'  buttery;  greed  is  your  undoing,"  answered 
Ellis.  *'  We  took  twenty  pounds  from  Appleyard.  We 
took  seven  marks  from  the  messenger  last  night.  A  day 
ago  we  had  fifty  from  the  merchant." 

"And  to-day,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "I  stopped  a 
56 


A  GREENWOOD   COMPANY 

fat  pardoner  riding  apace  for  Holywood.  Here  is  his 
purse." 

Ellis  counted  the  contents. 

"  Fivescore  shillings !  "  he  grumbled.  '*  Fool,  he  had 
more  in  his  sandal,  or  stitched  into  his  tippet.  Y'  are 
but  a  child,  Tom  Cuckow;  ye  have  lost  the  fish." 

But,  for  all  that,  Ellis  pocketed  the  purse  with  non- 
chalance. He  stood  leaning  on  his  boar-spear,  and 
looked  round  upon  the  rest.  They,  in  various  atti- 
tudes, took  greedily  of  the  venison  pottage,  and  liberally 
washed  it  down  with  ale.  This  was  a  good  day;  they 
were  in  luck;  but  business  pressed,  and  they  were 
speedy  in  their  eating.  The  first-comers  had  by  this 
time  even  despatched  their  dinner.  Some  lay  down 
upon  the  grass  and  fell  instantly  asleep,  like  boa-con- 
strictors; others  talked  together,  or  overhauled  their 
weapons:  and  one,  whose  humour  was  particularly 
gay,  holding  forth  an  ale-horn,  began  to  sing: 

**  Here  is  no  law  in  good  green  shaw, 
Here  is  no  lack  of  meat; 
'Tis  merry  and  quiet,  with  deer  for  our  diet, 
In  summer,  when  all  is  sweet. 

Come  winter  again,  with  wind  and  rain  — 

Come  winter,  with  snow  and  sleet, 
Get  home  to  your  places,  with  hoods  on  your  faces, 

And  sit  by  the  fire  and  eat. " 

All  this  while  the  two  lads  had  listened  and  lain  close; 
only  Richard  had  unslung  his  cross-bow,  and  held  ready 
in  one  hand  the  windac,  or  grappling-iron  that  he  used 
to  bend  it.  Otherwise  they  had  not  dared  to  stir;  and 
this  scene  of  forest  life  had  gone  on  before  their  eyes 

57 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

like  a  scene  upon  a  theatre.  But  now  there  came  a 
strange  interruption.  The  tall  chimney  which  over- 
topped the  remainder  of  the  ruins  rose  right  above  their 
hiding-place.  There  came  a  whistle  in  the  air,  and 
then  a  sounding  smack,  and  the  fragments  of  a  broken 
arrow  fell  about  their  ears.  Some  one  from  the  upper 
quarters  of  the  wood,  perhaps  the  very  sentinel  they 
saw  posted  in  the  fir,  had  shot  an  arrow  at  the  chim- 
ney-top. 

Matcham  could  not  restrain  a  little  cry,  which  he  in- 
stantly stifled,  and  even  Dick  started  with  surprise,  and 
dropped  the  windac  from  his  fingers.  But  to  the  fellows 
on  the  lawn,  this  shaft  was  an  expected  signal.  They 
were  all  afoot  together,  tightening  their  belts,  testing 
their  bow-strings,  loosening  sword  and  dagger  in  the 
sheath.  Ellis  held  up  his  hand ;  his  face  had  suddenly 
assumed  a  look  of  savage  energy ;  the  white  of  his  eyes 
shone  in  his  sun-brown  face. 

*'  Lads,"  he  said,  "ye know  your  places.  Let  not  one 
man's  soul  escape  you.  Appleyard  was  a  whet  before  a 
meal ;  but  now  we  go  to  table.  I  have  three  men  whom 
I  will  bitterly  avenge  —  Harry  Shelton,  Simon  Malmes- 
bury,  and" — striking  his  broad  bosom — '*and  Ellis 
Duckworth,  by  the  mass ! " 

Another  man  came,  red  with  hurry,  through  the 
thorns. 

'"Tis  not  Sir  Daniel!"  he  panted.  **They  are  but 
seven.     Is  the  arrow  gone  ?  " 

*Mt  struck  but  now,"  replied  Ellis. 

*'  A  murrain ! "  cried  the  messenger.  **  Methought  I 
heard  it  whistle.     And  I  go  dinnerless! " 

In  the  space  of  a  minute,  some  running,  some  walk- 
58 


A  GREENWOOD   COMPANY 

ing  sharply,  according  as  their  stations  were  nearer  or 
farther  away,  the  men  of  the  Black  Arrow  had  all  dis- 
appeared from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  ruined  house; 
and  the  caldron,  and  the  fire,  which  was  now  burning 
low,  and  the  dead  deer's  carcase  on  the  hawthorn,  re- 
mained alone  to  testify  they  had  been  there. 


99 


CHAPTER  V 

''BLOODY  AS   THE   HUNTER** 

The  lads  lay  quiet  till  the  last  footstep  had  melted  on 
the  wind.  Then  they  arose,  and  with  many  an  ache, 
for  they  were  weary  with  constraint,  clambered  through 
the  ruins,  and  recrossed  the  ditch  upon  the  rafter. 
Matcham  had  picked  up  the  windac  and  went  first, 
Dick  following  stiffly,  with  his  cross-bow  on  his  arm. 

'*  And  now,"  said  Matcham,  **  forth  to  Holy  wood." 

"To  Holywood!"  cried  Dick,  ''when  good  fellows 
stand  shot?  Not  I!  I  would  see  you  hanged  first, 
Jack!" 

"  Ye  would  leave  me,  would  ye  ?  "  Matcham  asked. 

"Ay,  by  my  sooth! "  returned  Dick.  "An  I  be  not 
in  time  to  warn  these  lads,  I  will  go  die  with  them. 
What!  would  ye  have  me  leave  my  own  men  that  I 
have  lived  among.    I  trow  not!    Give  me  my  windac." 

But  there  was  nothing  further  from  Matcham's  mind. 

"Dick,"  he  said,  "ye  sware  before  the  saints  that  ye 
would  see  me  safe  to  Holywood.  Would  ye  be  for- 
sworn ?    Would  you  desert  me  —  a  perjurer  ?  " 

"Nay,  I  sware  for  the  best,"  returned  Dick.  "I 
meant  it  too ;  but  now !  But  look  ye,  Jack,  turn  again 
with  me.  Let  me  but  warn  these  men,  and,  if  needs 
must,  stand  shot  with  them ;  then  shall  all  be  clear,  and 
I  will  on  again  to  Holywood  and  purge  mine  oath." 

60 


"BLOODY   AS  THE   HUNTER" 

'*  Ye  but  deride  me,"  answered  Matcham.  *' These 
men  ye  go  to  succour  are  the  same  that  hunt  me  to  my 
ruin." 

Dick  scratched  his  head. 

"  I  cannot  help  it,  Jack,"  he  said.  *'  Here  is  no  rem- 
edy. What  would  ye  ?  Ye  run  no  great  peril,  man ; 
and  these  are  in  the  way  of  death.  Death! "  he  added. 
"Think  of  it!  What  a  murrain  do  ye  keep  me  here 
for?  Give  me  the  windac.  Saint  George!  shall  they 
all  die.?" 

**  Richard  Shelton,"  said  Matcham,  looking  him 
squarely  in  the  face,  "would  ye,  then,  join  party  with 
Sir  Daniel  ?  Have  ye  not  ears  ?  Heard  ye  not  this 
Ellis,  what  he  said  ?  or  have  ye  no  heart  for  your  own 
kindly  blood  and  the  father  that  men  slew  ?  *  Harry 
Shelton,'  he  said ;  and  Sir  Harry  Shelton  was  your  father, 
as  the  sun  shines  in  heaven." 

**  What  would  ye  ?  "  Dick  cried  again.  "Would  ye 
have  me  credit  thieves  ?  " 

"Nay,  I  have  heard  it  before  now,"  returned  Match- 
am.  "The  fame  goeth  currently,  it  was  Sir  Daniel 
slew  him.  He  slew  him  under  oath;  in  his  own 
house  he  shed  the  innocent  blood.  Heaven  wearies  for 
the  avenging  on't;  and  you  —  the  man's  son  —  ye  go 
about  to  comfort  and  defend  the  murderer! " 

"Jack,"  cried  the  lad,  "I  know  not.  It  may  be; 
what  know  I  ?  But,  see  here :  This  man  hath  bred  me 
up  and  fostered  me,  and  his  men  I  have  hunted  with 
and  played  among;  and  to  leave  them  in  the  hour  of 
peril  —  O,  man,  if  I  did  that,  I  were  stark  dead  to  hon- 
our! Nay,  Jack,  ye  would  not  ask  it;  ye  would  not 
wish  me  to  be  base." 

6i 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

''But  your  father,  Dick?"  said  Matcham,  somewhat 
wavering.  "Your  father?  and  your  oath  to  me?  Ye 
took  the  saints  to  witness." 

"  My  father  ?  "  cried  Shelton.  "  Nay,  he  would  have 
me  go !  If  Sir  Daniel  slew  him,  when  the  hour  comes  this 
hand  shall  slay  Sir  Daniel;  but  neither  him  nor  his  will  I 
desert  in  peril.  And  for  mine  oath,  good  Jack,  ye  shall  ab- 
solve me  of  it  here.  For  the  lives'  sake  of  many  men  that 
hurt  you  not,  and  for  mine  honour,  ye  shall  set  me  free." 

"I,  Dick?  Never!"  returned  Matcham.  "An  ye 
leave  me,  y'  are  forsworn,  and  so  I  shall  declare  it." 

"My  blood  heats,"  said  Dick.  "Give  me  the  win- 
dac!    Give  it  me!" 

"I'll  not,"  said  Matcham.  "I'll  save  you  in  your 
teeth." 

"  Not  ?  "  cried  Dick.     * '  I'll  make  you  I " 

"Try  it,"  said  the  other. 

They  stood,  looking  in  each  other's  eyes,  each  ready 
for  a  spring.  Then  Dick  leaped;  and  though  Matcham 
turned  instantly  and  fled,  in  two  bounds  he  was  over- 
taken, the  windac  was  twisted  from  his  grasp,  he  was 
thrown  roughly  to  the  ground,  and  Dick  stood  across 
him,  flushed  and  menacing,  with  doubled  fist.  Match- 
am  lay  where  he  had  fallen,  with  his  face  in  the  grass, 
not  thinking  of  resistance. 

Dick  bent  his  bow. 

"I'll  teach  you!"  he  cried,  fiercely.  "Oath  or  no 
oath,  ye  may  go  hang  for  me! " 

And  he  turned  and  began  to  run.  Matcham  was  on 
his  feet  at  once,  and  began  running  after  him. 

"  What  d'ye  want  ?  "  cried  Dick,  stopping.  "  What 
make  ye  after  me  ?    Stand  off ! " 

62 


"BLOODY   AS  THE   HUNTER" 

*'I  will  follow  an  I  please,"  said  Matcham.  **This 
wood  is  free  to  me." 

**  Stand  back,  by  'r  Lady  I "  returned  Dick,  raising  his 
bow. 

*'Ah,  y'  are  a  brave  boy  I"  retorted  Matcham. 
"Shoot!" 

Dick  lowered  his  weapon  in  some  confusion. 

"  See  here,"  he  said.  **  Y'  have  done  me  ill  enough. 
Go,  then.  Go  your  way  in  fair  wise ;  or,  whether  I  will 
or  not,  I  must  even  drive  you  to  it." 

**  Well,"  said  Matcham,  doggedly,  '*y' are  the  stronger. 
Do  your  worst.  I  shall  not  leave  to  follow  thee,  Dick, 
unless  thou  makest  me,"  he  added. 

Dick  was  almost  beside  himself.  It  went  against  his 
heart  to  beat  a  creature  so  defenceless ;  and,  for  the  life 
of  him,  he  knew  no  other  way  to  rid  himself  of  this  un- 
welcome and,  as  he  began  to  think,  perhaps  untrue 
companion. 

**  Y'  are  mad,  I  think,"  he  cried.  '*  Fool-fellow,  I  am 
hasting  to  your  foes ;  as  fast  as  foot  can  carry  me,  go  I 
thither." 

"  I  care  not,  Dick,"  replied  the  lad.  *'  If  y'  are  bound 
to  die,  Dick,  I'll  die  too.  I  would  liever  go  with  you  to 
prison  than  to  go  free  without  you." 

**  Well,"  returned  the  other,  "  I  may  stand  no  longer 
prating.  Follow  me,  if  ye  must ;  but  if  ye  play  me  false, 
it  shall  but  little  advance  you,  mark  ye  that.  Shalt 
have  a  quarrel  in  thine  inwards,  boy." 

So  saying,  Dick  took  once  more  to  his  heels,  keeping 
in  the  margin  of  the  thicket  and  looking  briskly  about 
him  as  he  went.  At  a  good  pace  he  rattled  out  of  the 
dell,  and  came  again  into  the  more  open  quarters  of  the 

63 


THE   BLACK   AKKOW 

wood.  To  the  left  a  little  eminence  appeared,  spotted 
with  golden  gorse,  and  crowned  with  a  black  tuft  of 
firs. 

"\  shall  see  from  there,"  he  thought,  and  struck  for 
it  across  a  heathy  clearing. 

He  had  gone  but  a  few  yards,  when  Matcham  touched 
him  on  the  arm,  and  pointed.  To  the  eastward  of  the 
summit  there  was  a  dip,  and,  as  it  were,  a  valley  passing 
to  the  other  side;  the  heath  was  not  yet  out;  all  the 
ground  was  rusty,  like  an  unsecured  buckler,  and  dotted 
sparingly  with  yews;  and  there,  one  following  another, 
Dick  saw  half  a  score  green  jerkins  mounting  the  ascent, 
and  marching  at  their  head,  conspicuous  by  his  boar- 
spear,  Ellis  Duckworth  in  person.  One  after  another 
gained  the  top,  showed  for  a  moment  against  the  sky, 
and  then  dipped  upon  the  further  side,  until  the  last  was 
gone. 

Dick  looked  at  Matcham  with  a  kindlier  eye. 

**So  y'  are  to  be  true  to  me,  Jack.^"  he  asked.  **I 
thought  ye  were  of  the  other  party." 

Matcham  began  to  sob. 

"What  cheer!"  cried  Dick.  ''Now  the  saints  be- 
hold us!  would  ye  snivel  for  a  word  ?" 

**Ye  hurt  me,"  sobbed  Matcham.  "Ye  hurt  me 
when  ye  threw  me  down.  Y'  are  a  coward  to  abuse 
your  strength." 

"Nay,  that  is  fool's  talk,"  said  Dick,  roughly.  "  Y' 
had  no  title  to  my  windac.  Master  John.  I  would  'a' 
done  right  to  have  well  basted  you.  If  ye  go  with  me, 
ye  must  obey  me;  and  so,  come." 

Matcham  had  half  a  thought  to  stay  behind ;  but,  see- 
ing that  Dick  continued  to  scour  full-tilt  towards  the 

64 


"BLOODY   AS  THE  HUNTER" 

eminence  and  not  so  much  as  looked  across  his  shoul- 
der, he  soon  thought  better  of  that,  and  began  to  run  in 
turn.  But  the  ground  was  very  difficult  and  steep; 
Dick  had  already  a  long  start,  and  had,  at  any  rate,  the 
lighter  heels,  and  he  had  long  since  come  to  the  sum- 
mit, crawled  forward  through  the  firs,  and  ensconced 
himself  in  a  thick  tuft  of  gorse,  before  Matcham,  pant- 
ing like  a  deer,  rejoined  him,  and  lay  down  in  silence 
by  his  side. 

Below,  in  the  bottom  of  a  considerable  valley,  the 
short  cut  from  Tunstall  hamlet  wound  downwards  to 
the  ferry.  It  was  well  beaten,  and  the  eye  followed  it 
easily  from  point  to  point.  Here  it  was  bordered  by 
open  glades;  there  the  forest  closed  upon  it;  every  hun- 
dred yards  it  ran  beside  an  ambush.  Far  down  the 
path,  the  sun  shone  on  seven  steel  salets,  and  from  time 
to  time,  as  the  trees  opened,  Selden  and  his  men  could 
be  seen  riding  briskly,  still  bent  upon  Sir  Daniel's  mis- 
sion. The  wind  had  somewhat  fallen,  but  still  tussled 
merrily  with  the  trees,  and,  perhaps,  had  Appleyard 
been  there,  he  would  have  drawn  a  warning  from  the 
troubled  conduct  of  the  birds. 

''Now,  mark,"  Dick  whispered.  "They  be  already 
well  advanced  into  the  wood ;  their  safety  lieth  rather 
in  continuing  forward.  But  see  ye  where  this  wide 
glade  runneth  down  before  us,  and  in  the  midst  of  it, 
these  two  score  trees  make  like  an  island  ?  There  were 
their  safety.  An  they  but  come  sound  as  far  as  that,  I 
will  make  shift  to  warn  them.  But  my  heart  misgiveth 
me;  they  are  but  seven  against  so  many,  and  they  but 
carry  cross-bows.  The  long-bow,  Jack,  will  have  the 
uppermost  ever." 

65 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

Meanwhile,  Selden  and  his  men  still  wound  up  the 
path,  ignorant  of  their  danger,  and  momently  drew 
nearer  hand.  Once,  indeed,  they  paused,  drew  into  a 
group,  and  seemed  to  point  and  listen.  But  it  was  some- 
thing from  far  away  across  the  plain  that  had  arrested 
their  attention  —  a  hollow  growl  of  cannon  that  came, 
from  time  to  time,  upon  the  wind,  and  told  of  the  great 
battle.  It  was  worth  a  thought,  to  be  sure;  for  if  the 
voice  of  the  big  guns  were  thus  become  audible  in  Tun- 
stall  Forest,  the  fight  must  have  rolled  ever  eastward, 
and  the  day,  by  consequence,  gone  sore  against  Sir 
Daniel  and  the  lords  of  the  dark  rose. 

But  presently  the  little  troop  began  again  to  move 
forward,  and  came  next  to  a  very  open,  heathy  portion  of 
the  way,  where  but  a  single  tongue  of  forest  ran  down 
to  join  the  road.  They  were  but  just  abreast  of  this, 
when  an  arrow  shone  flying.  One  of  the  men  threw 
up  his  arms,  his  horse  reared,  and  both  fell  and  strug- 
gled together  in  a  mass.  Even  from  where  the  boys 
lay  they  could  hear  the  rumour  of  the  men's  voices  cry- 
ing out;  they  could  see  the  startled  horses  prancing, 
and,  presently,  as  the  troop  began  to  recover  from  their 
first  surprise,  one  fellow  beginning  to  dismount.  A 
second  arrow  from  somewhat  farther  ofT  glanced  in  a 
wide  arch ;  a  second  rider  bit  the  dust.  The  man  who 
was  dismounting  lost  hold  upon  the  ^ein,  and  his  horse 
fled  galloping,  and  dragged  him  b>  the  foot  along  the 
road,  bumping  from  stone  to  stone,  and  battered  by  the 
fleeing  hoofs.  The  four  who  still  kept  the  saddle  in- 
stantly broke  and  scattered;  one  wheeled  and  rode, 
shrieking,  towards  the  ferry ;  the  other  three,  with  loose 
rein  and  flying  raiment,  came  galloping  up  the  road 

66 


"BLOODY  AS  THE  HUNTER" 

from  Tunstall.  From  every  clump  they  passed  an  arrow 
sped.  Soon  a  horse  fell,  but  the  rider  found  his  feet  and 
continued  to  pursue  his  comrades  till  a  second  shot 
despatched  him.  Another  man  fell ;  then  another  horse ; 
out  of  the  whole  troop  there  was  but  one  fellow  left, 
and  he  on  foot;  only,  in  different  directions,  the  noise 
of  the  galloping  of  three  riderless  horses  was  dying  fast 
into  the  distance. 

All  this  time  not  one  of  the  assailants  had  for  a  mo- 
ment shown  himself  Here  and  there  along  the  path, 
horse  or  man  rolled,  undespatched,  in  his  agony;  but  no 
merciful  enemy  broke  cover  to  put  them  from  their  pain. 

The  solitary  survivor  stood  bewildered  in  the  road 
beside  his  fallen  charger.  He  had  come  the  length  of 
that  broad  glade,  with  the  island  of  timber,  pointed  out 
by  Dick.  He  was  not,  perhaps,  five  hundred  yards 
from  where  the  boys  lay  hidden;  and  they  could  see 
him  plainly,  looking  to  and  fro  in  deadly  expectation. 
But  nothing  came;  and  the  man  began  to  pluck  up  his 
courage,  and  suddenly  unslung  and  bent  his  bow.  At 
the  same  time,  by  something  in  his  action,  Dick  recog- 
nised Selden. 

At  this  offer  of  resistance,  from  all  about  him  in  the 
covert  of  the  woods  there  went  up  the  sound  of  laugh- 
ter. A  score  of  men,  at  least,  for  this  was  the  very 
thickest  of  the  ambush,  joined  in  this  cruel  and  untimely 
mirth.  Then  an  arrow  glanced  over  Selden's  shoulder; 
and  he  leaped  and  ran  a  little  back.  Another  dart  struck 
quivering  at  his  heel.  He  made  for  the  cover.  A  third 
shaft  leaped  out  right  in  his  face,  and  fell  short  in  front 
of  him.  And  then  the  laughter  was  repeated  loudly, 
rising  and  reechoing  from  different  thickets. 

67 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

It  was  plain  that  his  assailants  were  but  baiting  him, 
as  men,  in  those  days,  baited  the  poor  bull,  or  as  the 
cat  still  trifles  with  the  mouse.  The  skirmish  was  well 
over;  farther  down  the  road,  a  fellow  in  green  was  al- 
ready calmly  gathering  the  arrows;  and  now,  in  the 
evil  pleasure  of  their  hearts,  they  gave  themselves  the 
spectacle  of  their  poor  fellow-sinner  in  his  torture. 

Selden  began  to  understand;  he  uttered  a  roar  of 
anger,  shouldered  his  cross-bow,  and  sent  a  quarrel  at 
a  venture  into  the  wood.  Chance  favoured  him,  for  a 
slight  cry  responded.  Then,  throwing  down  his  wea- 
pon, Selden  began  to  run  before  him  up  the  glade,  and 
almost  in  a  straight  line  for  Dick  and  Matcham. 

The  companions  of  the  Black  Arrow  now  began  to 
shoot  in  earnest.  But  they  were  properly  served ;  their 
chance  had  past ;  most  of  them  had  now  to  shoot  against 
the  sun ;  and  Selden,  as  he  ran,  bounded  from  side  to 
side  to  baffle  and  deceive  their  aim.  Best  of  all,  by  turn- 
ing up  the  glade  he  had  defeated  their  preparations ;  there 
were  no  marksmen  posted  higher  up  than  the  one  whom 
he  had  just  killed  or  wounded;  and  the  confusion  of  the 
foresters'  counsels  soon  became  apparent.  A  whistle 
sounded  thrice,  and  then  again  twice.  It  was  repeated 
from  another  quarter.  The  woods  on  either  side  be- 
came full  of  the  sound  of  people  bursting  through  the 
underwood;  and  a  bewildered  deer  ran  out  into  the 
open,  stood  for  a  second  on  three  feet,  with  nose  in  air, 
and  then  plunged  again  into  the  thicket. 

Selden  still  ran,  bounding;  ever  and  again  an  arrow 
followed  him,  but  still  would  miss.  It  began  to  appear 
as  if  he  might  escape.  Dick  had  his  bow  armed,  ready 
to  support  him ;  even  Matcham,  forgetful  of  his  interest, 

68 


"BLOODY  AS  THE   HUNTER" 

took  sides  at  heart  for  the  poor  fugitive;  and  both  lads 
glowed  and  trembled  in  the  ardour  of  their  hearts. 

He  was  within  fifty  yards  of  them,  when  an  arrow 
struck  him  and  he  fell.  He  was  up  again,  indeed,  upon 
the  instant;  but  now  he  ran  staggering,  and,  like  a  blind 
man,  turned  aside  from  his  direction. 

Dick  leaped  to  his  feet  and  waved  to  him. 

**  Here!  "  he  cried.  **This  way!  here  is  help!  Nay, 
run,  fellow  —  run!  " 

But  just  then  a  second  arrow  struck  Selden  in  the  shoul- 
der, between  the  plates  of  his  brigandine,  and,  piercing 
through  his  jack,  brought  him,  like  a  stone,  to  earth. 

"O,  the  poor  heart!"  cried  Matcham,  with  clasped 
hands. 

And  Dick  stood  petrified  upon  the  hill,  a  mark  for 
archery. 

Ten  to  one  he  had  speedily  been  shot  —  for  the  for- 
esters were  furious  with  themselves,  and  taken  unawares 
by  Dick's  appearance  in  the  rear  of  their  position  —  but 
instantly,  out  of  a  quarter  of  the  wood  surprisingly  near 
to  the  two  lads,  a  stentorian  voice  arose,  the  voice  of 
Ellis  Duckworth. 

"Hold! "it  roared.  ** Shoot  not!  Take  him  alive! 
It  is  young  Shelton  —  Harry's  son." 

And  immediately  after  a  shrill  whistle  sounded  sev- 
eral times,  and  was  again  taken  up  and  repeated  farther 
off.  The  whistle,  it  appeared,  was  John  Amend-All's 
battle  trumpet,  by  which  he  published  his  directions. 

"Ah,  foul  fortune!"  cried  Dick.  "We  are  undone. 
Swiftly,  Jack,  come  swiftly!" 

And  the  pair  turned  and  ran  back  through  the  open 
pine  clump  that  covered  the  summit  of  the  hill. 

69 


CHAPTER  VI 

TO  THE  day's  end 

It  was,  indeed,  high  time  for  them  to  run.  On  every 
side  the  company  of  the  Black  Arrow  was  making  for 
the  hill.  Some,  being  better  runners,  or  having  open 
ground  to  run  upon,  had  far  outstripped  the  others, 
and  were  already  close  upon  the  goal;  some,  following 
valleys,  had  spread  out  to  right  and  left,  and  outflanked 
the  lads  on  either  side. 

Dick  plunged  into  the  nearest  cover.  It  was  a  tall 
grove  of  oaks,  firm  under  foot  and  clear  of  underbrush, 
and  as  it  lay  down  hill,  they  made  good  speed.  There 
followed  next  a  piece  of  open,  which  Dick  avoided, 
holding  to  his  left.  Two  minutes  after,  and  the  same 
obstacle  arising,  the  lads  followed  the  same  course. 
Thus  it  followed  that,  while  the  lads,  bending  continu- 
ally to  the  left,  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  high  road 
and  the  river  which  they  had  crossed  an  hour  or  two 
before,  the  great  bulk  of  their  pursuers  were  leaning  to 
the  other  hand,  and  running  towards  Tunstall. 

The  lads  paused  to  breathe.  There  was  no  sound  of 
pursuit.  Dick  put  his  ear  to  the  ground,  and  still  there 
was  nothing;  but  the  wind,  to  be  sure,  still  made  a  tur- 
moil in  the  trees,  and  it  was  hard  to  make  certain. 

**0n  again,"  said  Dick;  and,  tired  as  they  were,  and 
70 


TO  THE   DAY'S  END 

Matcham  limping  with  his  injured  foot,  they  pulled 
themselves  together,  and  once  more  pelted  down  the 
hill. 

Three  minutes  later,  they  were  breasting  through  a 
low  thicket  of  evergreen.  High  overhead,  the  tall  trees 
made  a  continuous  roof  of  foliage.  It  was  a  pillared 
grove,  as  high  as  a  cathedral,  and  except  for  the  hollies 
among  which  the  lads  were  struggling,  open  and 
smoothly  swarded. 

On  the  other  side,  pushing  through  the  last  fringe  of 
evergreen,  they  blundered  forth  again  into  the  open  twi- 
light of  the  grove. 

**  Stand !  "  cried  a  voice. 

And  there,  between  the  huge  stems,  not  fifty  feet  be- 
fore them,  they  beheld  a  stout  fellow  in  green,  sore 
blown  with  running,  who  instantly  drew  an  arrow  to 
the  head  and  covered  them.  Matcham  stopped  with  a 
cry;  but  Dick,  without  a  pause,  ran  straight  upon  the 
forester,  drawing  his  dagger  as  he  went.  The  other, 
whether  he  was  startled  by  the  daring  of  the  onslaught, 
or  whether  he  was  hampered  by  his  orders,  did  not 
shoot;  he  stood  wavering;  and  before  he  had  time  to 
come  to  himself,  Dick  bounded  at  his  throat,  and  sent 
him  sprawling  backward  on  the  turf  The  arrow  went 
one  way  and  the  bow  another  with  a  sounding  twang. 
The  disarmed  forester  grappled  his  assailant;  but  the 
dagger  shone  and  descended  twice.  Then  came  a 
couple  of  groans,  and  then  Dick  rose  to  his  feet  again, 
and  the  man  lay  motionless,  stabbed  to  the  heart. 

"On!  "  said  Dick;  and  he  once  more  pelted  forward, 
Matcham  trailing  in  the  rear.  To  say  truth,  they  made 
but  poor  speed  of  it  by  now,  labouring  dismally  as  they 

V 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

ran,  and  catching  for  their  breath  like  fish.  Matcham 
had  a  cruel  stitch,  and  his  head  swam;  and  as  for  Dick, 
his  knees  were  like  lead.  But  they  kept  up  the  form  of 
running  with  undiminished  courage. 

Presently  they  came  to  the  end  of  the  grove.  It 
stopped  abruptly ;  and  there,  a  few  yards  before  them, 
was  the  high  road  from  Risingham  to  Shoreby,  lying, 
at  this  point,  between  two  even  walls  of  forest. 

At  the  sight  Dick  paused ;  and  as  soon  as  he  stopped 
running,  he  became  aware  of  a  confused  noise,  which 
rapidly  grew  louder.  It  was  at  first  like  the  rush  of  a 
very  high  gust  of  wind,  but  soon  it  became  more  defi- 
nite, and  resolved  itself  into  the  galloping  of  horses ;  and 
then,  in  a  flash,  a  whole  company  of  men-at-arms  came 
driving  round  the  corner,  swept  before  the  lads,  and 
were  gone  again  upon  the  instant.  They  rode  as  for 
their  lives,  in  complete  disorder;  some  of  them  were 
wounded ;  riderless  horses  galloped  at  their  side  with 
bloody  saddles.  They  were  plainly  fugitives  from  the 
great  battle. 

The  noise  of  their  passage  had  scarce  begun  to  die 
away  towards  Shoreby,  before  fresh  hoofs  came  echoing 
in  their  wake,  and  another  deserter  clattered  down  the 
road ;  this  time  a  single  rider  and,  by  his  splendid  armour, 
a  man  of  high  degree.  Close  after  him  there  followed 
several  baggage- waggons,  fleeing  at  an  ungainly  canter, 
the  drivers  flailing  at  the  horses  as  if  for  life.  These 
must  have  run  early  in  the  day;  but  their  cowardice 
was  not  to  save  them.  For  just  before  they  came 
abreast  of  where  the  lads  stood  wondering,  a  man  in 
hacked  armour,  and  seemingly  beside  himself  with  fury, 
overtook  the  waggons,  and  with  the  truncheon  of  a 

72 


TO  THE   DAY'S  END 

sword,  began  to  cut  the  drivers  down.  Some  leaped 
from  their  places  and  plunged  into  the  wood ;  the  others 
he  sabred  as  they  sat,  cursing  them  the  while  for  cow- 
ards in  a  voice  that  was  scarce  human. 

All  this  time  the  noise  in  the  distance  had  continued 
to  increase ;  the  rumble  of  carts,  the  clatter  of  horses, 
the  cries  of  men,  a  great,  confused  rumour,  came  swell- 
ing on  the  wind ;  and  it  was  plain  that  the  rout  of  a 
whole  army  was  pouring,  like  an  inundation,  down  the 
road. 

Dick  stood  sombre.  He  had  meant  to  follow  the 
highway  till  the  turn  for  Holywood,  and  now  he  had 
to  change  his  plan.  But  above  all,  he  had  recognised 
the  colours  of  Earl  Risingham,  and  he  knew  that  the 
battle  had  gone  finally  against  the  rose  of  Lancaster. 
Had  Sir  Daniel  joined,  and  was  he  now  a  fugitive  and 
ruined?  or  had  he  deserted  to  the  side  of  York,  and 
was  he  forfeit  to  honour  ?    It  was  an  ugly  choice. 

**Come,"  he  said,  sternly;  and,  turning  on  his  heel, 
he  began  to  walk  forward  through  the  grove,  with 
Matcham  limping  in  his  rear. 

For  some  time  they  continued  to  thread  the  forest  in 
silence.  It  was  now  growing  late ;  the  sun  was  setting 
in  the  plain  beyond  Kettley;  the  tree-tops  overhead 
glowed  golden;  but  the  shadows  had  begun  to  grow 
darker  and  the  chill  of  the  night  to  fall. 

"If  there  were  anything  to  eat!"  cried  Dick,  sud- 
denly, pausing  as  he  spoke. 

Matcham  sat  down  and  began  to  weep. 

"Ye  can  weep  for  your  own  supper,  but  when  it 
was  to  save  men's  lives,  your  heart  was  hard  enough," 
said  Dick,  contemptuously.      "  Y'  'ave  seven  deaths 

73 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

Upon  your  conscience,  Master  John;  V\\  ne'er  forgive 
you  that." 

*' Conscience! "  cried  Matcham,  looking  fiercely  up. 
*'Mine!  And  ye  have  the  man's  red  blood  upon  your 
dagger!  And  wherefore  did  ye  slay  him,  the  poor  soul  ? 
He  drew  his  arrow,  but  he  let  not  fly ;  he  held  you  in 
his  hand,  and  spared  you !  *Tis  as  brave  to  kill  a  kitten, 
as  a  man  that  not  defends  himself." 

Dick  was  struck  dumb. 

"I  slew  him  fair.  I  ran  me  in  upon  his  bow,"  he 
cried. 

"It  was  a  coward  blow,"  returned  Matcham.  **Y' 
are  but  a  lout  and  bully.  Master  Dick;  ye  but  abuse 
advantages;  let  there  come  a  stronger,  we  will  see 
you  truckle  at  his  boot!  Ye  care  not  for  vengeance, 
neither  —  for  your  father's  death  that  goes  unpaid,  and 
his  poor  ghost  that  clamoureth  for  justice.  But  if  there 
come  but  a  poor  creature  in  your  hands  that  lacketh 
skill  and  strength,  and  would  befriend  you,  down  she 
shall  go! " 

Dick  was  too  furious  to  observe  that  *'she." 

"Marry !  "  he  cried,  "and  here  is  news !  Of  any  two 
the  one  will  still  be  stronger.  The  better  man  throweth 
the  worse,  and  the  worse  is  well  served.  Ye  deserve 
a  belting.  Master  Matcham,  for  your  ill-guidance  and 
unthankfulness  to  meward;  and  what  ye  deserve  ye 
shall  have." 

And  Dick,  who,  even  in  his  angriest  temper,  still  pre- 
served the  appearance  of  composure,  began  to  unbuckle 
his  belt. 

"  Here  shall  be  your  supper,"  he  said,  grimly. 

Matcham  had  stopped  his  tears ;  he  was  as  white  as  a 

74 


TO   THE   DAY'S   END 

sheet,  but  he  looked  Dick  steadily  in  the  face,  and  never 
moved.  Dick  took  a  step,  swinging  the  belt.  Then 
he  paused,  embarrassed  by  the  large  eyes  and  the  thin, 
weary  face  of  his  companion.  His  courage  began  to 
subside. 

"  Say  ye  were  in  the  wrong,  then,"  he  said,  lamely. 

'•  Nay,"  said  Matcham,  "1  was  in  the  right.  Come, 
cruel!  I  be  lame;  1  be  weary;  I  resist  not;  1  ne'er  did 
thee  hurt;  come,  beat  me  —  coward!" 

Dick  raised  the  belt  at  this  last  provocation;  but 
Matcham  winced  and  drew  himself  together  with  so 
cruel  an  apprehension,  that  his  heart  failed  him  yet  again. 
The  strap  fell  by  his  side,  and  he  stood  irresolute,  feeling 
like  a  fool. 

"  A  plague  upon  thee,  shrew  I "  he  said.  "  An  ye  be 
so  feeble  of  hand,  ye  should  keep  the  closer  guard  upon 
your  tongue.  But  I'll  be  hanged  before  1  beat  you!" 
and  he  put  on  his  belt  again.  "Beat  you  1  will  not," 
he  continued;  "but  forgive  you ?  —  never.  I  knew  ye 
not;  ye  were  my  master's  enemy;  I  lent  you  my  horse; 
my  dinner  ye  have  eaten;  y'  'ave  called  me  a  man  o* 
wood,  a  coward,  and  a  bully.  Nay,  by  the  mass !  the 
measure  is  filled,  and  runneth  over.  'Tis  a  great  thing 
to  be  weak,  I  trow:  ye  can  do  your  worst,  yet  shall 
none  punish  you;  ye  may  steal  a  man's  weapons  in  the 
hour  of  need,  yet  may  the  man  not  take  his  own  again ; 
—  y'  are  weak,  forsooth !  Nay,  then,  if  one  cometh 
charging  at  you  with  a  lance,  and  crieth  he  is  weak,  ye 
must  let  him  pierce  your  body  through!  Tut!  fool 
words!" 

"  And  yet  ye  beat  me  not,"  returned  Matcham. 

**  Let  be,"  said  Dick—"  let  be.     I  will  instruct  you. 
75 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

Y*  'ave  been  ill-nurtured,  methinks,  and  yet  ye  have  the 
makings  of  some  good,  and,  beyond  all  question,  saved 
me  from  the  river.  Nay,  I  had  forgotten  it;  I  am  as 
thankless  as  thyself.  But,  come,  let  us  on.  An  we  be 
for  Holywood  this  night,  ay,  or  to-morrow  early,  we 
had  best  set  forward  speedily." 

But  though  Dick  had  talked  himself  back  into  his 
usual  good-humour,  Matcham  had  forgiven  him  nothing. 
His  violence,  the  recollection  of  the  forester  whom  he 
had  slain  —  above  all,  the  vision  of  the  upraised  belt, 
were  things  not  easily  to  be  forgotten. 

**  I  will  thank  you,  for  the  form's  sake, "  said  Matcham. 
**But,  in  sooth,  good  Master  Shelton,  I  had  liever  find 
my  way  alone.  Here  is  a  wide  wood ;  prithee,  let  each 
choose  his  path ;  I  owe  you  a  dinner  and  a  lesson.  Fare 
ye  well!" 

*'Nay,"  cried  Dick,  ''if  that  be  your  tune,  so  be  it, 
and  a  plague  be  with  you! " 

Each  turned  aside,  and  they  began  walking  off  sev- 
erally, with  no  thought  of  the  direction,  intent  solely 
on  their  quarrel.  But  Dick  had  not  gone  ten  paces  ere 
his  name  was  called,  and  Matcham  came  running  after. 

''Dick,"  he  said,  "it  were  unmannerly  to  part  so 
coldly.  Here  is  my  hand,  and  my  heart  with  it.  For 
all  that  wherein  you  have  so  excellently  served  and 
helped  me  —  not  for  the  form,  but  from  the  heart,  I 
thank  you.     Fare  ye  right  well." 

"Well,  lad,"  returned  Dick,  taking  the  hand  which 
was  offered  him,  "good  speed  to  you,  if  speed  you  may. 
But  I  misdoubt  it  shrewdly.     Y'  are  too  disputatious." 

So  then  they  separated  for  the  second  time;  and  pres- 
ently it  was  Dick  who  was  running  after  Matcham. 

76 


TO  THE   DAY'S  END 

"Here,"  he  said,  '*take  my  cross-bow;  shalt  not  go 
unarmed." 

**  A  cross-bow!  "  said  Matcham.  **Nay,  boy,  I  have 
neither  the  strength  to  bend  nor  yet  the  skill  to  aim 
with  it.  It  were  no  help  to  me,  good  boy.  But  yet  I 
thank  you." 

The  night  had  now  fallen,  and  under  the  trees  they 
could  no  longer  read  each  other's  face. 

"I  will  go  some  little  way  with  you,"  said  Dick. 
**  The  night  is  dark.  I  would  fain  leave  you  on  a  path, 
at  least.  My  mind  misgiveth  me,  y'  are  likely  to  be 
lost." 

Without  any  more  words,  he  began  to  walk  forward, 
and  the  other  once  more  followed  him.  The  blackness 
grew  thicker  and  thicker.  Only  here  and  there,  in  open 
places,  they  saw  the  sky,  dotted  with  small  stars.  In 
the  distance,  the  noise  of  the  rout  of  the  Lancastrian 
army  still  continued  to  be  faintly  audible ;  but  with  ev- 
ery step  they  left  it  farther  in  the  rear. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  of  silent  progress  they 
came  forth  upon  a  broad  patch  of  heathy  open.  It 
glimmered  in  the  light  of  the  stars,  shaggy  with  fern 
and  islanded  with  clumps  of  yew.  And  here  they 
paused  and  looked  upon  each  other. 

*' Y'  are  weary?"  Dick  said. 

**Nay,  I  am  so  weary,"  answered  Matcham,  **that 
methinks  I  could  lie  down  and  die." 

**  I  hear  the  chiding  of  a  river,"  returned  Dick.  *'  Let 
us  go  so  far  forth,  for  I  am  sore  athirst." 

The  ground  sloped  down  gently ;  and,  sure  enough, 
in  the  bottom,  they  found  a  little  murmuring  river, 
running  among  willows.     Here  they  threw  themselves 

77 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

down  together  by  the  brink;  and  putting  their  mouths 
to  the  level  of  a  starry  pool,  they  drank  their  fill. 

"Dick,"  said  Matcham,  "it  may  not  be.  I  can  no 
more." 

' '  I  saw  a  pit  as  we  came  down, "  said  Dick.  '  *  Let  us 
lie  down  therein  and  sleep." 

"Nay,  but  with  all  my  heart!"  cried  Matcham. 

The  pit  was  sandy  and  dry ;  a  shock  of  brambles  hung 
upon  one  hedge,  and  made  a  partial  shelter;  and  there 
the  two  lads  lay  down,  keeping  close  together  for  the 
sake  of  warmth,  their  quarrel  all  forgotten.  And  soon 
sleep  fell  upon  them  like  a  cloud,  and  under  the  dew 
and  stars  they  rested  peacefully. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   HOODED   FACE 

They  awoke  in  the  grey  of  the  morning;  the  birds 
were  not  yet  in  full  song,  but  twittered  here  and  there 
among  the  woods;  the  sun  was  not  yet  up,  but  the 
eastern  sky  was  barred  with  solemn  colours.  Half 
starved  and  over-weary  as  they  were,  they  lay  without 
moving,  sunk  in  a  delightful  lassitude.  And  as  they 
thus  lay,  the  clang  of  a  bell  fell  suddenly  upon  their 
ears. 

**  A  bell ! "  said  Dick,  sitting  up.  **  Can  we  be,  then, 
so  near  to  Holy  wood  ?  " 

A  little  after,  the  bell  clanged  again,  but  this  time 
somewhat  nearer  hand ;  and  from  that  time  forth,  and 
still  drawing  nearer  and  nearer,  it  continued  to  sound 
brokenly  abroad  in  the  silence  of  the  morning. 

"Nay,  what  should  this  betoken?"  said  Dick,  who 
was  now  broad  awake. 

*'  It  is  some  one  walking,"  returned  Matcham,  **and 
the  bell  tolleth  ever  as  he  moves." 

**  I  see  that  well,"  said  Dick.  "  But  wherefore ?  What 
maketh  he  in  Tunstall  Woods  ?  Jack, "  he  added,  ' '  laugh 
at  me  an  ye  will,  but  I  like  not  the  hollow  sound  of  it." 

"Nay,"  said  Matcham,  with  a  shiver,  "  it  hath  a  dole- 
ful note.     An  the  day  were  not  come  " 

79 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

But  just  then  the  bell,  quickening  its  pace,  began  to 
ring  thick  and  hurried,  and  then  it  gave  a  single  ham- 
mering jangle,  and  was  silent  for  a  space. 

**  It  is  as  though  the  bearer  had  run  for  a  pater-noster 
while,  and  then  leaped  the  river,"  Dick  observed. 

**  And  now  beginneth  he  again  to  pace  soberly  for- 
ward," added  Matcham. 

''Nay,"  returned  Dick — *'nay,  not  so  soberly,  Jack. 
Tis  a  man  that  walketh  you  right  speedily.  Tis  a  man 
in  some  fear  of  his  life,  or  about  some  hurried  business. 
See  ye  not  how  swift  the  beating  draweth  near  ?  " 

"  It  is  now  close  by,"  said  Matcham. 

They  were  now  on  the  edge  of  the  pit;  and  as  the 
pit  itself  was  on  a  certain  eminence,  they  commanded  a 
view  over  the  greater  proportion  of  the  clearing,  up  to 
the  thick  woods  that  closed  it  in. 

The  daylight,  which  was  very  clear  and  grey,  showed 
them  a  riband  of  white  footpath  wandering  among  the 
gorse.  It  passed  some  hundred  yards  from  the  pit,  and 
ran  the  whole  length  of  the  clearing,  east  and  west. 
By  the  line  of  its  course,  Dick  judged  it  should  lead 
more  or  less  directly  to  the  Moat  House. 

Upon  this  path,  stepping  forth  from  the  margin  of  the 
wood,  a  white  figure  now  appeared.  It  paused  a  little, 
and  seemed  to  look  about;  and  then,  at  a  slow  pace, 
and  bent  almost  double,  it  began  to  draw  near  across 
the  heath.  At  every  step  the  bell  clanked.  Face,  it  had 
none ;  a  white  hood,  not  even  pierced  with  eye-holes, 
veiled  the  head ;  and  as  the  creature  moved,  it  seemed 
to  feel  its  way  with  the  tapping  of  a  stick.  Fear  fell 
upon  the  lads,  as  cold  as  death. 

**  A  leper! "  said  Dick,  hoarsely. 
80 


THE  HOODED   FACE 

**  His  touch  is  death,"  said  Matcham.     **  Let  us  run." 

*'Not  so,"  returned  Dick.  "See  ye  not?  —  he  is 
stone  blind.  He  guideth  him  with  a  staff.  Let  us  lie 
still ;  the  wind  bloweth  towards  the  path,  and  he  will 
go  by  and  hurt  us  not.  Alas,  poor  soul,  and  we  should 
rather  pity  him !  " 

"I  will  pity  him  when  he  is  by,"  replied  Matcham. 

The  blind  leper  was  now  about  half-way  towards 
them,  and  just  then  the  sun  rose  and  shone  full  on  his 
veiled  face.  He  had  been  a  tall  man  before  he  was 
bowed  by  his  disgusting  sickness,  and  even  now  he 
walked  with  a  vigorous  step.  The  dismal  beating  of 
his  bell,  the  pattering  of  the  stick,  the  eyeless  screen 
before  his  countenance,  and  the  knowledge  that  he  was 
not  only  doomed  to  death  and  suffering,  but  shut  out 
for  ever  from  the  touch  of  his  fellow-men,  filled  the  lads' 
bosoms  with  dismay;  and  at  every  step  that  brought 
him  nearer,  their  courage  and  strength  seemed  to  desert 
them. 

As  he  came  about  level  with  the  pit,  he  paused,  and 
turned  his  face  full  upon  the  lads. 

**Mary  be  my  shield!  He  sees  us!"  said  Matcham, 
faintly. 

*'  Hush !  "  whispered  Dick.  "  He  doth  but  hearken. 
He  is  blind,  fool!" 

The  leper  looked  or  listened,  whichever  he  was  really 
doing,  for  some  seconds.  Then  he  began  to  move  on 
again,  but  presently  paused  once  more,  and  again  turned 
and  seemed  to  gaze  upon  the  lads.  Even  Dick  became 
dead-white  and  closed  his  eyes,  as  if  by  the  mere  sight 
he  might  become  infected.  But  soon  the  bell  sounded, 
and  this  time,  without  any  farther  hesitation,  the  leper 

81 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

crossed  the  remainder  of  the  little  heath  and  disappeared 
into  the  covert  of  the  woods. 

"  He  saw  us,"  said  Matcham.     "  I  could  swear  it! " 

"Tut!"  returned  Dick,  recovering  some  sparks  of 
courage.  **  He  but  heard  us.  He  was  in  fear,  poor 
soul!  An  ye  were  blind,  and  walked  in  a  perpetual 
night,  ye  would  start  yourself,  if  ever  a  twig  rustled  or 
a  bird  cried  '  Peep.'" 

"Dick,  good  Dick,  he  saw  us,"  repeated  Matcham. 
"When  a  man  hearkeneth,  he  doth  not  as  this  man;  he 
doth  otherwise,  Dick.  This  was  seeing;  it  was  not 
hearing.  He  means  foully.  Hark,  else,  if  his  bell  be 
not  stopped! " 

Such  was  the  case.     The  bell  rang  no  longer. 

"Nay,"  said  Dick,  "I  like  not  that.  Nay,"  he  cried 
again,  "I  like  that  little.  What  may  this  betoken.? 
Let  us  go,  by  the  mass!  " 

"He  hath  gone  east,"  added  Matcham.  "Good 
Dick,  let  us  go  westward  straight;  1  shall  not  breathe 
till  I  have  my  back  turned  upon  that  leper." 

"Jack,  y'  are  too  cowardly,"  replied  Dick.  "We 
shall  go  fair  for  Holywood,  or  as  fair,  at  least,  as  I  can 
guide  you,  and  that  will  be  due  north." 

They  were  afoot  at  once,  passed  the  stream  upon 
some  stepping-stones,  and  began  to  mount  on  the  other 
side,  which  was  steeper,  towards  the  margin  of  the 
wood.  .  The  ground  became  very  uneven,  full  of  knolls 
and  hollows;  trees  grew  scattered  or  in  clumps;  it  be- 
came difficult  to  choose  a  path,  and  the  lads  somewhat 
wandered.  They  were  weary,  besides,  with  yester- 
day's exertions  and  the  lack  of  food,  and  they  moved 
but  heavily  and  dragged  their  feet  among  the  sand. 

82 


THE   HOODED   FACE 

Presently,  coming  to  the  top  of  a  knoll,  they  were 
aware  of  the  leper,  some  hundred  feet  in  front  of  them, 
crossing  the  line  of  their  march  by  a  hollow.  His  bell 
was  silent,  his  staff  no  longer  tapped  the  ground,  and 
he  went  before  him  with  the  swift  and  assured  foot- 
steps of  a  man  who  sees.  Next  moment  he  had  disap- 
peared into  a  little  thicket. 

The  lads,  at  the  first  glimpse,  had  crouched  behind 
a  tuft  of  gorse;  there  they  lay,  horror-struck. 

"Certain,  he  pursueth  us,"  said  Dick — "certain! 
He  held  the  clapper  of  his  bell  in  one  hand,  saw  ye  ? 
that  it  should  not  sound.  Now  may  the  saints  aid  and 
guide  us,  for  I  have  no  strength  to  combat  pestilence!  " 

"  What  maketh  he  ?  "  cried  Matcham.  "  What  doth 
he  want  ?  Who  ever  heard  the  like,  that  a  leper,  out 
of  mere  malice,  should  pursue  unfortunates  ?  Hath  he 
not  his  bell  to  that  very  end,  that  people  may  avoid  him  ? 
Dick,  there  is  below  this  something  deeper." 

"Nay,  I  care  not,"  moaned  Dick;  "the  strength  is 
gone  out  of  me;  my  legs  are  like  water.  The  saints 
be  mine  assistance!" 

"Would  ye  lie  there  idle?"  cried  Matcham.  "Let 
us  back  into  the  open.  We  have  the  better  chance;  he 
cannot  steal  upon  us  unawares." 

"Not  I,"  said  Dick.  " My  time  is  come,  and  perad- 
venture  he  may  pass  us  by." 

• '  Bend  me,  then,  your  bow ! "  cried  the  other.  "What ! 
will  ye  be  a  man  ?" 

Dick  crossed  himself.  "Would  ye  have  me  shoot 
upon  a  leper?"  he  cried.  "The  hand  would  fail  me. 
Nay,  now, "  he  added — " nay,  now,  let  be !  With  sound 
men  I  will  fight,  but  not  with  ghosts  and  lepers.    Which 

83 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

this  is,  I  wot  not  One  or  other,  Heaven  be  our  pro- 
tection I " 

"Now,"  said  Matcham,  ''if  this  be  man's  courage, 
what  a  poor  thing  is  man !  But  sith  ye  will  do  naught, 
let  us  lie  close." 

Then  came  a  single,  broken  jangle  on  the  bell. 

"He  hath  missed  his  hold  upon  the  clapper,"  whis- 
pered Matcham.     "  Saints !  how  near  he  is ! " 

But  Dick  answered  never  a  word ;  his  teeth  were  near 
chattering. 

Soon  they  saw  a  piece  of  the  white  robe  between  some 
bushes ;  then  the  leper's  head  was  thrust  forth  from  be- 
hind a  trunk,  and  he  seemed  narrowly  to  scan  the  neigh- 
bourhood before  he  once  again  withdrew.  To  their 
stretched  senses,  the  whole  bush  appeared  alive  with 
rustlings  and  the  creak  of  twigs;  and  they  heard  the 
beating  of  each  other's  heart. 

Suddenly,  with  a  cry,  the  leper  sprang  into  the  open 
close  by,  and  ran  straight  upon  the  lads.  They,  shriek- 
ing aloud,  separated  and  began  to  run  different  ways. 
But  their  horrible  enemy  fastened  upon  Matcham,  ran  him 
swiftly  down,  and  had  him  almost  instantly  a  prisoner. 
The  lad  gave  one  scream  that  echoed  high  and  far  over 
the  forest,  he  had  one  spasm  of  struggling,  and  then  all 
his  limbs  relaxed,  and  he  fell  limp  into  his  captor's  arms. 

Dick  heard  the  cry  and  turned.  He  saw  Matcham 
fall;  and  on  the  instant  his  spirit  and  his  strength  re- 
vived ;  With  a  cry  of  pity  and  anger,  he  unslung  and 
bent  his  arblast.  But  ere  he  had  time  to  shoot,  the 
leper  held  up  his  hand. 

"Hold  your  shot,  Dickon!"  cried  a  familiar  voice. 
'*  Hold  your  shot,  mad  wag!    Know  ye  not  a  friend  ?  " 

84 


THE  HOODED   FACE 

And  then  laying  down  Matcham  on  the  turf,  he  undid 
the  hood  from  off  his  face,  and  disclosed  the  features  of 
Sir  Daniel  Brackley. 

''Sir  Daniel!"  cried  Dick. 

"Ay,  by  the  mass,  Sir  Daniel! "  returned  the  knight. 
"Would  ye  shoot  upon  your  guardian,  rogue?    But 

here  is  this  " And  there  he  broke  off",  and  pointing 

to  Matcham,  asked:  "How  call  ye  him,  Dick?" 

"Nay,"  said  Dick,  "I  call  him  Master  Matcham. 
Know  ye  him  not  ?    He  said  ye  knew  him ! " 

"  Ay,"  replied  Sir  Daniel,  "  1  know  the  lad; "  and  he 
chuckled.  "But  he  has  fainted;  and,  by  my  sooth,  he 
might  have  had  less  to  faint  for!  Hey,  Dick  ?  Did  I  put 
the  fear  of  death  upon  you  ?  " 

"Indeed,  Sir  Daniel,  ye  did  that,"  said  Dick,  and 
sighed  again  at  the  mere  recollection.  "Nay,  sir,  sav- 
ing your  respect,  I  had  as  lief  'a'  met  the  devil  in  person ; 
and  to  speak  truth,  1  am  yet  all  a-quake.  But  what  made 
ye,  sir,  in  such  a  guise  ?  " 

Sir  Daniel's  brow  grew  suddenly  black  with  anger. 

"What  made  I  ?  "  he  said.  "  Ye  do  well  to  mind  me 
of  it!  What?  I  skulked  for  my  poor  life  in  my  own 
wood  of  Tunstall,  Dick.  We  were  ill  sped  at  the  battle ; 
we  but  got  there  to  be  swept  among  the  rout.  Where 
be  all  my  good  men-at-arms  ?  Dick,  by  the  mass,  1  know 
not!  We  were  swept  down;  the  shot  fell  thick  among 
us;  I  have  not  seen  one  man  in  my  own  colours  since  I 
saw  three  fall.  For  myself,  I  came  sound  to  Shoreby, 
and  being  mindful  of  the  Black  Arrow,  got  me  this  gown 
and  bell,  and  came  softly  by  the  path  for  the  Moat  House. 
There  is  no  disguise  to  be  compared  with  it ;  the  jingle 
of  this  bell  would  scare  me  the  stoutest  outlaw  in  the 

85 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

forest;  they  would  all  turn  pale  to  hear  it.  At  length  I 
came  by  you  and  Matcham.  I  could  see  but  evilly 
through  this  same  hood,  and  was  not  sure  of  you,  being 
chiefly,  and  for  many  a  good  cause,  astonished  at  the 
finding  you  together.  Moreover,  in  the  open,  where  I 
had  to  go  slowly  and  tap  with  my  staff,  I  feared  to  dis- 
close myself.  But  see,"  he  added,  "this  poor  shrew 
begins  a  little  to  revive.  A  little  good  canary  will  com- 
fort me  the  heart  of  it." 

The  knight,  from  under  his  long  dress,  produced  a 
stout  bottle,  and  began  to  rub  the  temples  and  wet  the 
lips  of  the  patient,  who  returned  gradually  to  conscious- 
ness, and  began  to  roll  dim  eyes  from  one  to  another. 

"  What  cheer.  Jack! "  said  Dick.  *'  It  was  no  leper, 
after  all;  it  was  Sir  Daniel!    See! " 

**  Swallow  me  a  good  draught  of  this,"  said  the  knight. 
**This  will  give  you  manhood.  Thereafter,  I  will  give 
you  both  a  meal,  and  we  shall  all  three  on  to  Tunstall. 
For,  Dick,"  he  continued,  laying  forth  bread  and  meat 
upon  the  grass,  '*!  will  avow  to  you,  in  all  good  con- 
science, it  irks  me  sorely  to  be  safe  between  four  walls. 
Not  since  I  backed  a  horse  have  I  been  pressed  so  hard ; 
peril  of  life,  jeopardy  of  land  and  livelihood,  and  to  sum 
up,  all  these  losels  in  the  wood  to  hunt  me  down.  But 
I  be  not  yet  shent.  Some  of  my  lads  will  pick  me  their 
way  home.  Hatch  hath  ten  fellows ;  Selden,  he  had  six. 
Nay,  we  shall  soon  be  strong  again ;  and  if  I  can  but  buy 
my  peace  with  my  right  fortunate  and  undeserving  Lord 
of  York,  why,  Dick,  we'll  be  a  man  again  and  go  a- 
horseback ! " 

And  so  saying,  the  knight  filled  himself  a  horn  of  ca- 
nary, and  pledged  his  ward  in  dumb  show. 

S6 


THE  HOODED   FACE 

* '  Selden, "  Dick  faltered  —  ' '  Selden  " And  he 

paused  again. 

Sir  Daniel  put  down  the  wine  untasted. 

"How!"  he  cried,  in  a  changed  voice.  "Selden? 
Speak!     What  of  Selden  ? " 

Dick  stammered  forth  the  tale  of  the  ambush  and  the 
massacre. 

The  knight  heard  in  silence;  but  as  he  listened,  his 
countenance  became  convulsed  with  rage  and  grief. 

"Now  here,"  he  cried,  "on  my  right  hand,  I  swear 
to  avenge  it!  If  that  1  fail,  if  that  I  spill  not  ten  men's 
souls  for  each,  may  this  hand  wither  from  my  body! 
I  broke  this  Duckworth  like  a  rush ;  I  beggared  him  to 
his  door;  I  burned  the  thatch  above  his  head;  I  drove 
him  from  this  country;  and  now,  cometh  he  back  to 
beard  me  }  Nay,  but,  Duckworth,  this  time  it  shall  go 
bitter  hard ! " 

He  was  silent  for  some  time,  his  face  working. 

"Eat!"  he  cried,  suddenly.  "And  you  here,"  he 
added  to  Matcham,  "  swear  me  an  oath  to  follow  straight 
to  the  Moat  House." 

"I  will  pledge  mine  honour,"  replied  Matcham. 

"What  make  I  with  your  honour  ?  "  cried  the  knight. 
"  Swear  me  upon  your  mother's  welfare!  " 

Matcham  gave  the  required  oath;  and  Sir  Daniel  re- 
adjusted the  hood  over  his  face,  and  prepared  his  bell 
and  staff.  To  see  him  once  more  in  that  appalling  trav- 
esty somewhat  revived  the  horror  of  his  two  compan- 
ions.    But  the  knight  was  soon  upon  his  feet. 

"  Eat  with  despatch,"  he  said,  "  and  follow  me  yarely 
to  mine  house." 

And  with  that  he  set  forth  again  into  the  woods ;  and 
87 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

presently  after  the  bell  began  to  sound,  numbering  his 
steps,  and  the  two  lads  sat  by  their  untasted  meal,  and 
heard  it  die  slowly  away  up  hill  into  the  distance. 

''And  so  ye  go  to  Tunstall ?"  Dick  inquired. 

*'Yea,  verily,"  said  Matcham,  "when  needs  must! 
I  am  braver  behind  Sir  Daniel's  back  than  to  his  face." 

They  ate  hastily,  and  set  forth  along  the  path  through 
the  airy  upper  levels  of  the  forest,  where  great  beeches 
stood  apart  among  green  lawns,  and  the  birds  and  squir- 
rels made  merry  on  the  boughs.  Two  hours  later,  they 
began  to  descend  upon  the  other  side,  and  already, 
among  the  tree-tops,  saw  before  them  the  red  walls  and 
roofs  of  Tunstall  House. 

"  Here,"  said  Matcham,  pausing,  "ye  shall  take  your 
leave  of  your  friend  Jack,  whom  y'  are  to  see  no  more. 
Come,  Dick,  forgive  him  what  he  did  amiss,  as  he,  for 
his  part,  cheerfully  and  lovingly  forgiveth  you." 

"And  wherefore  so?"  asked  Dick.  "An  we  both 
go  to  Tunstall,  I  shall  see  you  yet  again,  I  trow,  and 
that  right  often." 

"Ye'll  never  again  see  poor  Jack  Matcham,"  replied 
the  other,  "that  was  so  fearful  and  burthensome,  and 
yet  plucked  you  from  the  river;  ye'll  not  see  him  more, 
Dick,  by  mine  honour!"  He  held  his  arms  open,  and 
the  lads  embraced  and  kissed.  "And,  Dick,"  contin- 
ued Matcham,  "my  spirit  bodeth  ill.  Y'  are  now  to 
see  a  new  Sir  Daniel ;  for  heretofore  hath  all  prospered 
in  his  hands  exceedingly,  and  fortune  followed  him; 
but  now,  methinks,  when  his  fate  hath  come  upon 
him,  and  he  runs  the  adventure  of  his  life,  he  will  prove 
but  a  foul  lord  to  both  of  us.  He  may  be  brave  in  bat- 
tle, but  he  hath  the  liar's  eye;  there  is  fear  in  his  eye, 

88 


THE   HOODED   FACE 

Dick,  and  fear  is  as  cruel  as  the  wolf  I    We  go  down 
into  that  house,  Saint  Mary  guide  us  forth  again ! " 

And  so  they  continued  their  descent  in  silence,  and 
came  out  at  last  before  Sir  Daniel's  forest  stronghold, 
where  it  stood,  low  and  shady,  flanked  with  round 
towers  and  stained  with  moss  and  lichen,  in  the  lilied 
waters  of  the  moat.  Even  as  they  appeared,  the  doors 
were  opened,  the  bridge  lowered,  and  Sir  Daniel  him- 
self, with  Hatch  and  the  parson  at  his  side>  stood  ready 
to  receive  them. 


ap 


BOOK  II 

THE  MOAT  HOUSE 


CHAPTER  I 

DICK   ASKS  QUESTIONS 

THE  Moat  House  stood  not  far  from  the  rough  forest 
road.  Externally,  it  was  a  compact  rectangle  of 
red  stone,  flanked  at  each  corner  by  a  round  tower, 
pierced  for  archery  and  battlemented  at  the  top.  With- 
in, it  enclosed  a  narrow  court.  The  moat  was  perhaps 
twelve  feet  wide,  crossed  by  a  single  drawbridge.  It 
was  supplied  with  water  by  a  trench,  leading  to  a  for- 
est pool  and  commanded,  through  its  whole  length, 
from  the  battlements  of  the  two  southern  towers.  Ex- 
cept that  one  or  two  tall  and  thick  trees  had  been  suf- 
fered to  remain  within  half  a  bowshot  of  the  walls,  the 
house  was  in  a  good  posture  for  defence. 

In  the  court,  Dick  found  a  part  of  the  garrison,  busy 
with  preparations  for  defence,  and  gloomily  discussing 
the  chances  of  a  siege.  Some  were  making  arrows, 
some  sharpening  swords  that  had  long  been  disused; 
but  even  as  they  worked,  they  shook  their  heads. 

Twelve  of  Sir  Daniel's  party  had  escaped  the  battle, 
run  the  gauntlet  through  the  wood,  and  come  alive  to 
the  Moat  House.  But  out  of  this  dozen,  three  had  been 
gravely  wounded :  two  at  Risingham  in  the  disorder  of 
the  rout,  one  by  John  Amend-All's  marksmen  as  he 
crossed  the  forest.     This  raised  the  force  of  the  garri- 

9^ 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

son,  counting  Hatch,  Sir  Daniel,  and  young  Shelton,  to 
twenty-two  effective  men.  And  more  might  be  con- 
tinually expected  to  arrive.  The  danger  lay  not  there- 
fore in  the  lack  of  men. 

It  was  the  terror  of  the  Black  Arrow  that  oppressed 
the  spirits  of  the  garrison.  For  their  open  foes  of  the 
party  of  York,  in  these  most  changing  times,  they  felt 
but  a  far-away  concern.  "The  world,"  as  people  said 
in  those  days,  "might  change  again"  before  harm 
came.  But  for  their  neighbours  in  the  wood,  they 
trembled.  It  was  not  Sir  Daniel  alone  who  was  a  mark 
for  hatred.  His  men,  conscious  of  impunity,  had  car- 
ried themselves  cruelly  through  all  the  country.  Harsh 
commands  had  been  harshly  executed ;  and  of  the  little 
band  that  now  sat  talking  in  the  court,  there  was  not 
one  but  had  been  guilty  of  some  act  of  oppression  or 
barbarity.  And  now,  by  the  fortune  of  war.  Sir  Daniel 
had  become  powerless  to  protect  his  instruments ;  now, 
by  the  issue  of  some  hours  of  battle,  at  which  many  of 
them  had  not  been  present,  they  had  all  become  pun- 
ishable traitors  to  the  State,  outside  the  buckler  of  the 
law,  a  shrunken  company  in  a  poor  fortress  that  was 
hardly  tenable,  and  exposed  upon  all  sides  to  the  just 
resentment  of  their  victims.  Nor  had  there  been  lack- 
ing grisly  advertisements  of  what  they  might  expect. 

At  different  periods  of  the  evening  and  the  night,  no 
fewer  than  seven  riderless  horses  had  come  neighing  in 
terror  to  the  gate.  Two  were  from  Selden's  troop ;  five 
belonged  to  men  who  had  ridden  with  Sir  Daniel  to  the 
field.  Lastly,  a  little  before  dawn,  a  spearman  had 
come  staggering  to  the  moat  side,  pierced  by  three  ar- 
rows; even  as  they  carried  him  in,  his  spirit  had  de- 

04 


DICK  ASKS  QUESTIONS 

parted;  but  by  the  words  that  he  uttered  in  his  agony, 
he  must  have  been  the  last  survivor  of  a  considerable 
company  of  men. 

Hatch  himself  showed,  under  his  sun-brown,  the  pal- 
lour  of  anxiety ;  and  when  he  had  taken  Dick  aside  and 
learned  the  fate  of  Selden,  he  fell  on  a  stone  bench  and 
fairly  wept.  The  others,  from  where  they  sat  on  stools 
or  doorsteps  in  the  sunny  angle  of  the  court,  looked  at 
him  with  wonder  and  alarm,  but  none  ventured  to  in- 
quire the  cause  of  his  emotion. 

"Nay,  Master  Shelton,"  said  Hatch,  at  last — "nay, 
but  what  said  I  ?  We  shall  all  go.  Selden  was  a  man 
of  his  hands ;  he  was  like  a  brother  to  me.  Well,  he 
has  gone  second;  well,  we  shall  all  follow!  For  what 
said  their  knave  rhyme  ? — 'A  black  arrow  in  each  black 
heart.'  Was  it  not  so  it  went?  Appleyard,  Selden, 
Smith,  old  Humphrey  gone;  and  there  lieth  poor  John 
Carter,  crying,  poor  sinner,  for  the  priest." 

Dick  gave  ear.  Out  of  a  low  window,  hard  by  where 
they  were  talking,  groans  and  murmurs  came  to  his  ear. 

"  Lieth  he  there  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Ay,  in  the  second  porter's  chamber,"  answered 
Hatch.  "We  could  not  bear  him  further,  soul  and 
body  were  so  bitterly  at  odds.  At  every  step  we  lifted 
him,  he  thought  to  wend.  But  now,  methinks,  it  is  the 
soul  that  sufifereth.  Ever  for  the  priest  he  crieth,  and 
Sir  Oliver,  I  wot  not  why,  still  cometh  not.  Twill  be 
a  long  shrift;  but  poor  Appleyard  and  poor  Selden,  they 
had  none." 

Dick  stooped  to  the  window  and  looked  in.  The  lit- 
tle cell  was  low  and  dark,  but  he  could  make  out  the 
wounded  soldier  lying  moaning  on  his  pallet. 

95 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

"Carter,  poor  friend,  how  goeth  it?"  he  asked. 

*' Master  Shelton,"  returned  the  man,  in  an  excited 
whisper,  "for  the  dear  light  of  heaven,  bring  the  priest. 
Alack,  I  am  sped ;  I  am  brought  very  low  down ;  my 
hurt  is  to  the  death.  Ye  may  do  me  no  more  service; 
this  shall  be  the  last.  Now,  for  my  poor  soul's  interest, 
and  as  a  loyal  gentleman,  bestir  you;  for  1  have  that 
matter  on  my  conscience  that  shall  drag  me  deep." 

He  groaned,  and  Dick  heard  the  grating  of  his  teeth, 
whether  in  pain  or  terror. 

Just  then  Sir  Daniel  appeared  upon  the  threshold  of 
the  hall.     He  had  a  letter  in  one  hand. 

"  Lads,"  he  said,  "we  have  had  a  shog,  we  have  had 
a  tumble;  wherefore,  then,  deny  it  ?  Rather  it  imputeth 
to  get  speedily  again  to  saddle.  This  old  Harry  the  Sixt 
has  had  the  undermost.  Wash  we,  then,  our  hands  of 
him.  I  have  a  good  friend  that  rideth  next  the  duke, 
the  Lord  of  Wensleydale.  Well,  I  have  writ  a  letter  to 
my  friend,  praying  his  good  lordship,  and  offering  large 
satisfaction  for  the  past  and  reasonable  surety  for  the  fu- 
ture. Doubt  not  but  he  will  lend  a  favourable  ear.  A 
prayer  without  gifts  is  like  a  song  without  music :  I  sur- 
feit him  with  promises,  boys  —  I  spare  not  to  promise. 
What,  then,  is  lacking?  Nay,  a  great  thing — where- 
fore should  I  deceive  you? — a  great  thing  and  a  diffi- 
cult :  a  messenger  to  bear  it.  The  woods  —  y'  are  not 
ignorant  of  that  —  lie  thick  with  our  ill-willers.  Haste 
is  most  needful ;  but  without  sleight  and  caution  all  is 
naught.  Which,  then,  of  this  company  will  take  me 
this  letter,  bear  me  it  to  my  Lord  of  Wensleydale,  and 
bring  me  the  answer  back  ?  " 

One  man  instantly  arose. 
96 


DICK  ASKS  OyESTIONS 

"  I  will,  an't  like  you, "  said  he.  "1  will  even  risk  my 
carcase." 

"Nay,  Dicky  Bowyer,  not  so,"  returned  the  knight. 
*Mt  likes  me  not.  Y'  are  sly  indeed,  but  not  speedy. 
Ye  were  a  laggard  ever. " 

**  An't  be  so,  Sir  Daniel,  here  am  I,"  cried  another. 

"The  saints  forfend!"  said  the  knight.  "Y'  are 
speedy,  but  not  sly.  Ye  would  blunder  me  headfore- 
most into  John  Amend-AH's  camp.  I  thank  you  both 
for  your  good  courage;  but,  in  sooth,  it  may  not  be." 

Then  Hatch  offered  himself,  and  he  also  was  refused. 

"I  want  you  here,  good  Bennet;  y'  are  my  right 
hand,  indeed,"  returned  the  knight;  and  then  several 
coming  forward  in  a  group.  Sir  Daniel  at  length  selected 
one  and  gave  him  the  letter. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "  upon  your  good  speed  and  better 
discretion  we  do  all  depend.  Bring  me  a  good  answer 
back,  and  before  three  weeks,  I  will  have  purged  my 
forest  of  these  vagabonds  that  brave  us  to  our  faces. 
But  mark  it  well,  Throgmorton :  the  matter  is  not  easy. 
Ye  must  steal  forth  under  night,  and  go  like  a  fox ;  and 
how  ye  are  to  cross  Till  I  know  not,  neither  by  the 
bridge  nor  ferry." 

'  *  I  can  swim, "  returned  Throgmorton.  *  *  I  will  come 
soundly,  fear  not." 

'"Well,  friend,  get  ye  to  the  buttery,"  replied  Sir 
Daniel.  "Ye  shall  swim  first  of  all  in  nut-brown  ale." 
And  with  that  he  turned  back  into  the  hall. 

"Sir  Daniel  hath  a  wise  tongue,"  said  Hatch,  aside, 
to  Dick.  "See,  now,  where  many  a  lesser  man  had 
glossed  the  matter  over,  he  speaketh  it  out  plainly  to 
his  company.     Here  is  a  danger,  *a  saith,  and  here  diffi- 

97 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

culty;  and  jesteth  in  the  very  saying.  Nay,  by  Saint 
Barbary,  he  is  a  born  captain!  Not  a  man  but  he  is 
some  deal  heartened  up !  See  how  they  fall  again  to 
work." 

This  praise  of  Sir  Daniel  put  a  thought  in  the  lad's 
head. 

"Bennet,"  he  said,  *'how  came  my  father  by  his 
end.?" 

"Ask  me  not  that,"  replied  Hatch.  " I  had  no  hand 
nor  knowledge  in  it;  furthermore,  I  will  even  be  silent. 
Master  Dick.  For  look  you,  in  a  man's  own  business 
there  he  may  speak ;  but  of  hearsay  matters  and  of  com- 
mon talk,  not  so.  Ask  me  Sir  Oliver  —  ay,  or  Carter, 
if  ye  will;  not  me." 

And  Hatch  set  off  to  make  the  rounds,  leaving  Dick 
in  a  muse. 

"Wherefore  would  he  not  tell  me?"  thought  the 
lad.  * '  And  wherefore  named  he  Carter  ?  Carter  —  nay, 
then  Carter  had  a  hand  in  it,  perchance." 

He  entered  the  house,  and  passing  some  little  way 
along  a  flagged  and  vaulted  passage,  came  to  the  door 
of  the  cell  where  the  hurt  man  lay  groaning.  At  his 
entrance  Carter  started  eagerly. 

"  Have  ye  brought  the  priest  ?  "  he  cried. 

"Not  yet  awhile,"  returned  Dick.  "  Y'  'ave  a  word 
to  tell  me  first.  How  came  my  father,  Harry  Shelton, 
by  his  death  ?  " 

The  man's  face  altered  instantly. 

"I  know  not,"  he  replied,  doggedly. 

"Nay,  ye  know  well,"  returned  Dick.  "Seek  not 
to  put  me  by." 

"  I  tell  you  I  know  not,"  repeated  Carter. 
98 


DICK   ASKS  OyESTIONS 

"Then,"  said  Dick,  **ye  shall  die  unshriven.  Here 
am  I,  and  here  shall  stay.  There  shall  no  priest  come 
near  you,  rest  assured.  For  of  what  avail  is  penitence, 
an  ye  have  no  mind  to  right  those  wrongs  ye  had  a  hand 
in  ?  and  without  penitence,  confession  is  but  mockery." 

'*  Ye  say  what  ye  mean  not.  Master  Dick,"  said  Car- 
ter, composedly.  "It  is  ill  threatening  the  dying,  and 
becometh  you  (to  speak  truth)  little.  And  for  as  little 
as  it  commends  you,  it  shall  serve  you  less.  Stay,  an 
ye  please.  Ye  will  condemn  my  soul  —  ye  shall  learn 
nothing!  There  is  my  last  word  to  you."  And  the 
wounded  man  turned  upon  the  other  side. 

Now,  Dick,  to  say  truth,  had  spoken  hastily,  and  was 
ashamed  of  his  threat.     But  he  made  one  more  effort. 

*' Carter,"  he  said,  '* mistake  me  not.  I  know  ye 
were  but  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  others;  a  churl 
must  obey  his  lord ;  I  would  not  bear  heavily  on  such 
an  one.  But  I  begin  to  learn  upon  many  sides  that  this 
great  duty  lieth  on  my  youth  and  ignorance,  to  avenge 
my  father.  Prithee,  then,  good  Carter,  set  aside  the 
memory  of  my  threatenings,  and  in  pure  goodwill  and 
honest  penitence  give  me  a  word  of  help." 

The  wounded  man  lay  silent;  nor,  say  what  Dick 
pleased,  could  he  extract  another  word  from  him. 

"Well,"  said  Dick,  "I  will  go  call  the  priest  to  you 
as  ye  desired ;  for  howsoever  ye  be  in  fault  to  me  or 
mine,  I  would  not  be  willingly  in  fault  to  any,  least  of 
all  to  one  upon  the  last  change." 

Again  the  old  soldier  heard  him  without  speech  or 
motion;  even  his  groans  he  had  suppressed;  and  as 
Dick  turned  and  left  the  room,  he  was  filled  with  ad- 
miration for  that  rugged  fortitude. 

99 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

**And  yet,"  he  thought,  ** of  what  use  is  courage 
without  wit?  Had  his  hands  been  clean,  he  would 
have  spoken ;  his  silence  did  confess  the  secret  louder 
than  words.  Nay,  upon  all  sides,  proof  floweth  on  me. 
Sir  Daniel,  he  or  his  men,  hath  done  this  thing." 

Dick  paused  in  the  stone  passage  with  a  heavy  heart. 
At  that  hour,  in  the  ebb  of  Sir  Daniel's  fortune,  when 
he  was  beleaguered  by  the  archers  of  the  Black  Arrow 
and  proscribed  by  the  victorious  ^Yorkists,  was  Dick, 
also,  to  turn  upon  the  man  who  had  nourished  and 
taught  him,  who  had  severely  punished,  indeed,  but 
yet  unwearyingly  protected  his  youth  ?  The  necessity, 
if  it  should  prove  to  be  one,  was  cruel. 

**  Pray  Heaven  he  be  innocent!  "  he  said. 

And  then  steps  sounded  on  the  flagging,  and  Sir 
Oliver  came  gravely  towards  the  lad. 

*'One  seeketh  you  earnestly,"  said  Dick. 

*'  I  am  upon  the  way,  good  Richard,"  said  the  priest. 
**  It  is  this  poor  Carter.     Alack,  he  is  beyond  cure." 

"  And  yet  his  soul  is  sicker  than  his  body,"  answered 
Dick. 

**  Have  ye  seen  him  ?  "  asked  Sir  Oliver,  with  a  mani- 
fest start. 

''I  do  but  come  from  him,"  replied  Dick. 

*'  What  said  he  ?  what  said  he  ?  "  snapped  the  priest, 
with  extraordinary  eagerness. 

''  He  but  cried  for  you  the  more  piteously.  Sir  Oliver. 
It  were  well  done  to  go  the  faster,  for  his  hurt  is  griev- 
ous," returned  the  lad. 

'*  I  am  straight  for  him,"  was  the  reply.  *'  Well,  we 
have  all  our  sins.  We  must  all  come  to  our  latter  day, 
good  Richard." 

lOO 


DICK  ASKS  OyESTIONS 

''Ay,  sir;  and  it  were  well  if  we  all  came  fairly,"  an- 
swered Dick. 

The  priest  dropped  his  eyes,  and  with  an  inaudible 
benediction  hurried  on. 

"  He,  too! "  thought  Dick—" he,  that  taught  me  in 
piety!  Nay,  then,  what  a  world  is  this,  if  all  that  care 
for  me  be  blood-guilty  of  my  father's  death?  Ven- 
geance !  Alas !  what  a  sore  fate  is  mine,  if  I  must  be 
avenged  upon  my  friends ! " 

The  thought  put  Matcham  in  his  head.  He  smiled  at 
the  remembrance  of  his  strange  companion,  and  then  won- 
dered where  he  was.  Ever  since  they  had  come  together 
to  the  doors  of  the  Moat  House  the  younger  lad  had  disap- 
peared, and  Dick  began  to  weary  for  a  word  with  him. 

About  an  hour  after,  mass  being  somewhat  hastily  run 
through  by  Sir  Oliver,  the  company  gathered  in  the  hall 
for  dinner.  It  was  a  long,  low  apartment,  strewn  with 
green  rushes,  and  the  walls  hung  with  arras  in  a  design 
of  savage  men  and  questing  bloodhounds ;  here  and  there 
hung  spears  and  bows  and  bucklers ;  a  fire  blazed  in  the 
big  chimney;  there  were  arras-covered  benches  round 
the  wall,  and  in  the  midst  the  table,  fairly  spread, 
awaited  the  arrival  of  the  diners.  Neither  Sir  Daniel 
nor  his  lady  made  their  appearance.  Sir  Oliver  himself 
was  absent,  and  here  again  there  was  no  word  of 
Matcham.  Dick  began  to  grow  alarmed,  to  recall  his 
companion's  melancholy  forebodings,  and  to  wonder  to 
himself  if  any  foul  play  had  befallen  him  in  that  house. 

After  dinner  he  found  Goody  Hatch,  who  was  hurry- 
ing to  my  Lady  Brackley. 

"Goody,"  he  said,  "where  is  Master  Matcham,  I 
prithee  ?    I  saw  ye  go  in  with  him  when  we  arrived." 

lOI 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

The  old  woman  laughed  aloud. 

**Ah,  Master  Dick,"  she  said,  **y'  have  a  famous 
bright  eye  in  your  head,  to  be  sure!  "  and  laughed  againo 

**Nay,  but  where  is  he,  indeed  ?"  persisted  Dick. 

**Ye  will  never  see  him  more,"  she  returned — ■ 
'*  never.    It  is  sure." 

**An  I  do  not,"  returned  the  lad,  *M  will  know  the 
reason  why.  He  came  not  hither  of  his  full  free  will; 
such  as  1  am,  I  am  his  best  protector,  and  1  will  see  him 
justly  used.  There  be  too  many  mysteries ;  I  do  begin 
to  weary  of  the  game !  " 

But  as  Dick  was  speaking,  a  heavy  hand  fell  on  his 
shoulder.  It  was  Bennet  Hatch  that  had  come  unper- 
ceived  behind  him.  With  a  jerk  of  his  thumb,  the  re- 
tainer dismissed  his  wife. 

"Friend  Dick,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone, 
"are  ye  a  moon-struck  natural  ?  An  ye  leave  not  cer- 
tain things  in  peace,  ye  were  better  in  the  salt  sea  than 
here  in  Tunstall  Moat  House.  Y'  have  questioned  me; 
y'  have  baited  Carter;  y'  have  frighted  the  jack-priest 
with  hints.  Bear  ye  more  wisely,  fool;  and  even  now, 
when  Sir  Daniel  calleth  you,  show  me  a  smooth  face  for 
the  love  of  wisdom.  Y'  are  to  be  sharply  questioned. 
Look  to  your  answers." 

"  Hatch,"  returned  Dick,  "in  all  this  I  smell  a  guilty 
conscience." 

"An  ye  go  not  the  wiser,  ye  will  soon  smell  blood," 
replied  Bennet.  "  I  do  but  warn  you.  And  here  com- 
eth  one  to  call  you." 

And  indeed,  at  that  very  moment,  a  messenger  came 
across  the  court  to  summon  Dick  into  the  presence  of 
Sir  Daniel. 

102 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   TWO   OATHS 

Sir  Daniel  was  in  the  hall ;  there  he  paced  angrily  be- 
fore the  fire,  awaiting  Dick's  arrival.  None  was  by  ex- 
cept Sir  Oliver,  and  he  sat  discreetly  backward,  thumb- 
ing and  muttering  over  his  breviary. 

"Y*  have  sent  for  me.  Sir  Daniel?"  said  young 
Shelton. 

**I  have  sent  for  you,  indeed,"  replied  the  knight. 
*'  For  what  cometh  to  mine  ears  ?  Have  I  been  to  you 
so  heavy  a  guardian  that  ye  make  haste  to  credit  ill  of 
me  ?  Or  sith  that  ye  see  me,  for  the  nonce,  some 
worsted,  do  ye  think  to  quit  my  party  ?  By  the  mass, 
your  father  was  not  so!  Those  he  was  near,  those  he 
stood  by,  come  wind  or  weather.  But  you,  Dick,  y' 
are  a  fair-day  friend,  it  seemeth,  and  now  seek  to  clear 
yourself  of  your  allegiance." 

"  An't  please  you,  Sir  Daniel,  not  so,"  returned  Dick, 
firmly.  "I  am  grateful  and  faithful,  where  gratitude 
and  faith  are  due.  And  before  more  is  said,  I  thank 
you,  and  I  thank  Sir  Oliver;  y'  have  great  claims  upon 
me  both  —  none  can  have  more;  I  were  a  hound  if  I 
forgot  them." 

"It  is  well,"  said  Sir  Daniel;  and  then,  rising  into 
anger:  "Gratitude  and  faith  are  words,  Dick  Shelton," 
he  continued ;  "but  I  look  to  deeds.     In  this  hour  of  my 

lOJ 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

peril,  when  my  name  is  attainted,  when  my  lands  are 
forfeit,  when  this  wood  is  full  of  men  that  hunger  and 
thirst  for  my  destruction,  what  doth  gratitude  ?  what 
doth  faith  ?  I  have  but  a  little  company  remaining;  is 
it  grateful  or  faithful  to  poison  me  their  hearts  with  your 
insidious  whisperings  ?  Save  me  from  such  gratitude ! 
But,  come,  now,  what  is  it  ye  wish  ?  Speak ;  we  are 
here  to  answer.  If  ye  have  aught  against  me,  stand 
forth  and  say  it." 

*'Sir,"  replied  Dick,  ''my  father  fell  when  I  was  yet 
a  child.  It  hath  come  to  mine  ears  that  he  was  foully 
done  by.  It  hath  come  to  mine  ears — for  I  will  not 
dissemble  —  that  ye  had  a  hand  in  his  undoing.  And 
in  all  verity,  I  shall  not  be  at  peace  in  mine  own  mind, 
nor  very  clear  to  help  you,  till  I  have  certain  resolution 
of  these  doubts." 

Sir  Daniel  sat  down  in  a  deep  settle.  He  took  his 
chin  in  his  hand  and  looked  at  Dick  fixedly. 

**  And  ye  think  I  would  be  guardian  to  the  man's  son 
that  I  had  murdered  ?  "  he  asked. 

'*Nay,"  said  Dick,  **  pardon  me  if  I  answer  churl- 
ishly; but  indeed  ye  know  right  well  a  wardship  is  most 
profitable.  All  these  years  have  ye  not  enjoyed  my  rev- 
enues, and  led  my  men  ?  Have  ye  not  still  my  mar- 
riage ?  I  wot  not  what  it  may  be  worth  —  it  is  worth 
something.  Pardon  me  again;  but  if  ye  were  base 
enough  to  slay  a  man  under  trust,  here  were,  perhaps, 
reasons  enough  to  move  you  to  the  lesser  baseness." 

'*  When  I  was  lad  of  your  years,"  returned  Sir  Daniel, 
sternly,  **my  mind  had  not  so  turned  upon  suspicions. 
And  Sir  Oliver  here,"  he  added,  ''why  should  he,  a 
priest,  be  guilty  of  this  act  ?  " 

104 


THE  TWO  OATHS 

**Nay,  Sir  Daniel,"  said  Dick,  **but  where  the  mas^ 
ter  biddeth  there  will  the  dog  go.  It  is  well  known 
this  priest  is  but  your  instrument.  I  speak  very  freely; 
the  time  is  not  for  courtesies.  Even  as  I  speak,  so 
would  I  be  answered.  And  answer  get  I  none!  Ye 
but  put  more  questions.  I  rede  ye  be  ware.  Sir  Daniel ; 
for  in  this  way  ye  will  but  nourish  and  not  satisfy  my 
doubts." 

''I  will  answer  you  fairly,  Master  Richard,"  said  the 
knight.  "Were  1  to  pretend  ye  have  not  stirred  my 
wrath,  I  were  no  honest  man.  But  1  will  be  just  even 
in  anger.  Come  to  me  with  these  words  when  y'  are 
grown  and  come  to  man's  estate,  and  I  am  no  longer 
your  guardian,  and  so  helpless  to  resent  them.  Come 
to  me  then,  and  I  will  answer  you  as  ye  merit,  with  a 
buffet  in  the  mouth.  Till  then  ye  have  two  courses: 
either  swallow  me  down  these  insults,  keep  a  silent 
tongue,  and  fight  in  the  meanwhile  for  the  man  that  fed 
and  fought  for  your  infancy ;  or  else  —  the  door  standeth 
open,  the  woods  are  full  of  mine  enemies  —  go." 

The  spirit  with  which  these  words  were  uttered,  the 
looks  with  which  they  were  accompanied,  staggered 
Dick ;  and  yet  he  could  not  but  observe  that  he  had  got 
no  answer. 

**I  desire  nothing  more  earnestly.  Sir  Daniel,  than  to 
believe  you,"  he  replied.  ''Assure  me  ye  are  free  from 
this." 

**  Will  ye  take  my  word  of  honour,  Dick?"  inquired 
the  knight. 

**That  would  I,"  answered  the  lad. 

"I  give  it  you,"  returned  Sir  Daniel.  "Upon  my 
word  of  honour,  upon  the  eternal  welfare  of  my  spirit, 

105 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

and  as  I  shall  answer  for  my  deeds  hereafter,  I  had  no 
hand  nor  portion  in  your  father's  death." 

He  extended  his  hand,  and  Dick  took  it  eagerly. 
Neither  of  them  observed  the  priest,  who,  at  the  pro- 
nunciation of  that  solemn  and  false  oath,  had  half  arisen 
from  his  seat  in  an  agony  of  horror  and  remorse. 

"Ah,"  cried  Dick,  '*ye  must  find  it  in  your  great- 
heartedness  to  pardon  me!  I  was  a  churl,  indeed,  to 
doubt  of  you.  But  ye  have  my  hand  upon  it;  I  will 
doubt  no  more." 

"Nay,  Dick,"  replied  Sir  Daniel,  "y*  are  forgiven. 
Ye  know  not  the  world  and  its  calumnious  nature." 

"I  was  the  more  to  blame,"  added  Dick,  "in  that 
the  rogues  pointed,  not  directly  at  yourself,  but  at  Sir 
Oliver." 

As  he  spoke,  he  turned  towards  the  priest,  and  paused 
in  the  middle  of  the  last  word.  This  tall,  ruddy,  corpu- 
lent, high-stepping  man  had  fallen,  you  might  say,  to 
pieces;  his  colour  was  gone,  his  limbs  were  relaxed,  his 
lips  stammered  prayers;  and  now,  when  Dick's  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  him  suddenly,  he  cried  out  aloud,  like 
some  wild  animal,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Sir  Daniel  was  by  him  in  two  strides,  and  shook  him 
fiercely  by  the  shoulder.  At  the  same  moment  Dick's 
suspicions  reawakened. 

"Nay,"  he  said,  "  Sir  Oliver  may  swear  also.  Twas 
him  they  accused." 

"  He  shall  swear,"  said  the  knight. 

Sir  Oliver  speechlessly  waved  his  arms. 

"Ay,  by  the  mass!  but  ye  shall  swear,"  cried  Sir 
Daniel,  beside  himself  with  fury.  "Here,  upon  this 
book,  ye  shall  swear,"  he  continued,  picking  up  the 

io6 


THE  TWO  OATHS 

breviary,  which  had  fallen  to  the  ground.  **What!  Ye 
make  me  doubt  you!     Swear,  1  say;  swear!" 

But  the  priest  was  still  incapable  of  speech.  His  terror 
of  Sir  Daniel,  his  terror  of  perjury,  risen  to  about  an 
equal  height,  strangled  him. 

And  just  then,  through  the  high,  stained-glass  win- 
dow of  the  hall,  a  black  arrow  crashed,  and  struck,  and 
stuck  quivering,  in  the  midst  of  the  long  table. 

Sir  Oliver,  with  a  loud  scream,  fell  fainting  on  the 
rushes;  while  the  knight,  followed  by  Dick,  dashed 
into  the  court  and  up  the  nearest  corkscrew  stair  to  the 
battlements.  The  sentries  were  all  on  the  alert.  The 
sun  shone  quietly  on  green  lawns  dotted  with  trees, 
and  on  the  wooded  hills  of  the  forest  which  enclosed 
the  view.     There  was  no  sign  of  a  besieger. 

"  Whence  came  that  shot  ?"  asked  the  knight 

*'From  yonder  clump,  Sir  Daniel,"  returned  a  sen- 
tinel. 

The  knight  stood  a  little,  musing.  Then  he  turned 
to  Dick.  "Dick,"  he  said,  "keep  me  an  eye  upon 
these  men;  I  leave  you  in  charge  here.  As  for  the 
priest,  he  shall  clear  himself,  or  I  will  know  the  reason 
why.  I  do  almost  begin  to  share  in  your  suspicions. 
He  shall  swear,  trust  me,  or  we  shall  prove  him  guilty." 

Dick  answered  somewhat  coldly,  and  the  knight, 
giving  him  a  piercing  glance,  hurriedly  returned  to  the 
hall.  His  first  glance  was  for  the  arrow.  It  was  the 
first  of  these  missiles  he  had  seen,  and  as  he  turned  it 
to  and  fro,  the  dark  hue  of  it  touched  him  with  some 
fear.  Again  there  was  some  writing:  one  word  — 
"Earthed." 

"Ay,"  he  broke  out,  "they  know  I  am  home,  then. 
107 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

Earthed!  Ay,  but  there  is  not  a  dog  among  them  fit 
to  dig  me  out." 

Sir  Oliver  had  come  to  himself,  and  now  scrambled 
to  his  feet. 

** Alack,  Sir  Daniel!"  he  moaned,  **y'  'ave  sworn  a 
dread  oath;  y'  are  doomed  to  the  end  of  time." 

*'Ay,"  returned  the  knight,  ''I  have  sworn  an  oath, 
indeed,  thou  chucklehead;  but  thyself  shalt  swear  a 
greater.  It  shall  be  on  the  blessed  cross  of  Holywood. 
Look  to  it;  get  the  words  ready.  It  shall  be  sworn 
to-night." 

"  Now,  may  Heaven  lighten  you!  "  replied  the  priest; 
**may  Heaven  incline  your  heart  from  this  iniquity!  " 

"  Look  you,  my  good  father,"  said  Sir  Daniel,  '*  if  y' 
are  for  piety,  I  say  no  more ;  ye  begin  late,  that  is  all. 
But  if  y'  are  in  any  sense  bent  upon  wisdom,  hear  me. 
This  lad  beginneth  to  irk  me  like  a  wasp.  I  have  a  need 
for  him,  for  I  would  sell  his  marriage.  But  I  tell  you, 
in  all  plainness,  if  that  he  continue  to  weary  me,  he  shall 
go  join  his  father.  I  give  orders  now  to  change  him  to 
the  chamber  above  the  chapel.  If  that  ye  can  swear 
your  innocency  with  a  good,  solid  oath  and  an  assured 
countenance,  it  is  well ;  the  lad  will  be  at  peace  a  little, 
and  I  will  spare  him.  If  that  ye  stammer  or  blench,  or 
anyways  boggle  at  the  swearing,  he  will  not  believe 
you ;  and  by  the  mass,  he  shall  die.  There  is  for  your 
thinking  on." 

** The  chamber  above  the  chapel! "  gasped  the  priest. 

"That  same,"  replied  the  knight.  ''So  if  ye  desire 
to  save  him,  save  him ;  and  if  ye  desire  not,  prithee,  go 
to,  and  let  me  be  at  peace !  For  an  I  had  been  a  hasty 
man,  I  would  already  have  put  my  sword  through  you, 

io8 


THE  TWO  OATHS 

for  your  intolerable  cowardice  and  folly.  Have  ye  cho- 
sen ?    Say ! " 

"I  have  chosen,"  said  the  priest.  ** Heaven  pardon 
me,  1  will  do  evil  for  good.  I  will  swear  for  the  lad's 
sake." 

''So  is  it  best!"  said  Sir  Daniel.  ''Send  for  him, 
then,  speedily.  Ye  shall  see  him  alone.  Yet  I  shall 
have  an  eye  on  you.     1  shall  be  here  in  the  panel  room." 

The  knight  raised  the  arras  and  let  it  fall  again  behind 
him.  There  was  the  sound  of  a  spring  opening;  then 
followed  the  creaking  of  trod  stairs. 

Sir  Oliver,  left  alone,  cast  a  timorous  glance  upward 
at  the  arras-covered  wall,  and  crossed  himself  with  every 
appearance  of  terror  and  contrition. 

"Nay,  if  he  is  in  the  chapel  room,"  the  priest  mur- 
mured, "were  it  at  my  soul's  cost,  I  must  save  him." 

Three  minutes  later,  Dick,  who  had  been  summoned 
by  another  messenger,  found  Sir  Oliver  standing  by  the 
hall  table,  resolute  and  pale. 

"Richard  Shelton,"  he  said,  "ye  have  required  an 
oath  from  me.  I  might  complain,  I  might  deny  you ; 
but  my  heart  is  moved  toward  you  for  the  past,  and  I 
will  even  content  you  as  ye  choose.  By  the  true  cross 
of  Holy  wood,  1  did  not  slay  your  father." 

"Sir  Oliver,"  returned  Dick,  "when  first  we  read 
John  Amend-All's  paper,  I  was  convinced  of  so  much. 
But  suffer  me  to  put  two  questions.  Ye  did  not  slay 
him ;  granted.     But  had  ye  no  hand  in  it  ?  " 

"None,"  said  Sir  Oliver.  And  at  the  same  time  he 
began  to  contort  his  face,  and  signal  with  his  mouth 
and  eyebrows,  like  one  who  desired  to  convey  a  warn- 
ing, yet  dared  not  utter  a  sound. 

109 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

Dick  regarded  him  in  wonder;  then  he  turned  and 
looked  all  about  him  at  the  empty  hall. 

''What  make  ye?"  he  inquired. 

"Why,  naught,"  returned  the  priest,  hastily  smooth- 
ing his  countenance.  "  1  make  naught;  I  do  but  suffer; 
I  am  sick.  I  —  I — prithee,  Dick,  1  must  begone.  On 
the  true  cross  of  Holywood,  I  am  clean  innocent  alike 
of  violence  or  treachery.  Content  ye,  good  lad.  Fare- 
well!" 

And  he  made  his  escape  from  the  apartment  with 
unusual  alacrity. 

Dick  remained  rooted  to  the  spot,  his  eyes  wander- 
ing about  the  room,  his  face  a  changing  picture  of  vari- 
ous emotions,  wonder,  doubt,  suspicion,  and  amuse- 
ment. Gradually,  as  his  mind  grew  clearer,  suspicion 
took  the  upper  hand,  and  was  succeeded  by  certainty 
of  the  worst.  He  raised  his  head,  and,  as  he  did  so, 
violently  started.  High  upon  the  wall  there  was  the 
figure  of  a  savage  hunter  woven  in  the  tapestry.  With 
one  hand  he  held  a  horn  to  his  mouth;  in  the  other  he 
brandished  a  stout  spear.  His  face  was  dark,  for  he 
was  meant  to  represent  an  African. 

Now,  here  was  what  had  startled  Richard  Shelton. 
The  sun  had  moved  away  from  the  hall  windows,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  fire  had  blazed  up  high  on  the  wide 
hearth,  and  shed  a  changeful  glow  upon  the  roof  and 
hangings.  In  this  light  the  figure  of  the  black  hunter 
had  winked  at  him  with  a  white  eyelid. 

He  continued  staring  at  the  eye.  The  light  shone 
upon  it  like  a  gem ;  it  was  liquid,  it  was  alive.  Again 
the  white  eyelid  closed  upon  it  for  a  fraction  of  a  sec- 
ond, and  the  next  moment  it  was  gone. 

no 


THE  TWO  OATHS 

There  could  be  no  mistake.  The  live  eye  that  had 
been  watching  him  through  a  hole  in  the  tapestry  was 
gone.  The  firelight  no  longer  shone  on  a  reflecting 
surface. 

And  instantly  Dick  awoke  to  the  terrors  of  his  posi- 
tion. Hatch's  warning,  the  mute  signals  of  the  priest, 
this  eye  that  had  observed  him  from  the  wall,  ran  to- 
gether in  his  mind.  He  saw  he  had  been  put  upon  his 
trial,  that  he  had  once  more  betrayed  his  suspicions, 
and  that,  short  of  some  miracle,  he  was  lost. 

"If  I  cannot  get  me  forth  out  of  this  house,"  he 
thought,  '*1  am  a  dead  man!  And  this  poorMatcham, 
too  —  to  what  a  cockatrice's  nest  have  I  not  led  him  ! " 

He  was  still  so  thinking,  when  there  came  one  in 
haste,  to  bid  him  help  in  changing  his  arms,  his  cloth- 
ing, and  his  two  or  three  books,  to  a  new  chamber. 

"A  new  chamber  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  Wherefore  so  ? 
What  chamber  ?  " 

' '  'Tis  one  above  the  chapel, "  answered  the  messenger. 

''It  hath  stood  long  empty,"  said  Dick,  musing. 
"What  manner  of  room  is  it?" 

"Nay,  a  brave  room,"  returned  the  man.  "  But  yet" 
—  lowering  his  voice —  "they  call  it  haunted." 

"Haunted.?"  repeated  Dick,  with  a  chill.  "I  have 
not  heard  of  it.     Nay,  then,  and  by  whom  ?  " 

The  messenger  looked  about  him ;  and  then,  in  a  low 
whisper,  "  By  the  sacrist  of  St.  John's,"  he  said.  "They 
had  him  there  to  sleep  one  night,  and  in  the  morning — 
whew !  —  he  was  gone.  The  devil  had  taken  him,  they 
said;  the  more  betoken,  he  had  drunk  late  the  night 
before." 

Dick  followed  the  man  with  black  forebodings. 
Ill 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  ROOM  OVER  THE  CHAPEL 

From  the  battlements  nothing  further  was  observed. 
The  sun  journeyed  westward,  and  at  last  went  down ; 
but,  to  the  eyes  of  all  these  eager  sentinels,  no  living 
thing  appeared  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Tunstall  House. 

When  the  night  was  at  length  fairly  come,  Throgmor- 
ton  was  led  to  a  room  overlooking  an  angle  of  the  moat. 
Thence  he  was  lowered  with  every  precaution ;  the  rip- 
ple of  his  swimming  was  audible  for  a  brief  period ; 
then  a  black  figure  was  observed  to  land  by  the  branches 
of  a  willow  and  crawl  away  among  the  grass.  For  some 
half  hour  Sir  Daniel  and  Hatch  stood  eagerly  giving  ear; 
but  all  remained  quiet.  The  messenger  had  got  away 
in  safety. 

Sir  Daniel's  brow  grew  clearer.    He  turned  to  Hatch. 

*'  Bennet,"  he  said,  '*  this  John  Amend-All  is  no  more 
than  a  man,  ye  see.  He  sleepeth.  We  will  make  a  good 
end  of  him,  go  to ! " 

All  the  afternoon  and  evening,  Dick  had  been  ordered 
hither  and  thither,  one  command  following  another,  till 
he  was  bewildered  with  the  number  and  the  hurry  of 
commissions.  All  that  time  he  had  seen  no  more  of  Sir 
Oliver,  and  nothing  of  Matcham ;  and  yet  both  the  priest 
and  the  young  lad  ran  continually  in  his  mind.     It  was 

112 


THE  ROOM  OVER  THE  CHAPEL 

now  his  chief  purpose  to  escape  from  Tunstall  Moat 
House  as  speedily  as  might  be ;  and  yet,  before  he  went, 
he  desired  a  word  with  both  of  these. 

At  length,  with  a  lamp  in  one  hand,  he  mounted  to 
his  new  apartment.  It  was  large,  low,  and  somewhat 
dark.  The  window  looked  upon  the  moat,  and  although 
it  was  so  high  up,  it  was  heavily  barred.  The  bed  was 
luxurious,  with  one  pillow  of  down  and  one  of  laven- 
der, and  a  red  coverlet  worked  in  a  pattern  of  roses. 
All  about  the  walls  were  cupboards,  locked  and  pad- 
locked, and  concealed  from  view  by  hangings  of  dark- 
coloured  arras.  Dick  made  the  round,  lifting  the  arras, 
sounding  the  panels,  seeking  vainly  to  open  the  cup- 
boards. He  assured  himself  that  the  door  was  strong 
and  the  bolt  solid;  then  he  set  down  his  lamp  upon  a 
bracket,  and  once  more  looked  all  around. 

For  what  reason  had  he  been  given  this  chamber  ?  It 
was  larger  and  finer  than  his  own.  Could  it  conceal  a 
snare  ?  Was  there  a  secret  entrance  ?  Was  it,  indeed, 
haunted  ?    His  blood  ran  a  little  chilly  in  his  veins. 

Immediately  over  him  the  heavy  foot  of  a  sentry  trod 
the  leads.  Below  him,  he  knew,  was  the  arched  roof 
of  the  chapel;  and  next  to  the  chapel  was  the  hall. 
Certainly  there  was  a  secret  passage  in  the  hall ;  the  eye 
that  had  watched  him  from  the  arras  gave  him  proof  of 
that.  Was  it  not  more  than  probable  that  the  passage 
extended  to  the  chapel,  and,  if  so,  that  it  had  an  open- 
ing in  his  room  ? 

To  sleep  in  such  a  place,  he  felt,  would  be  foolhardy. 
He  made  his  weapons  ready,  and  took  his  position  in  a 
corner  of  the  room  behind  the  door.  If  ill  was  intended, 
he  would  sell  his  life  dear. 

113 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

The  sound  of  many  feet,  the  challenge,  and  the  pass- 
word, sounded  overhead  along  the  battlements;  the 
watch  was  being  changed. 

And  just  then  there  came  a  scratching  at  the  door  of 
the  chamber;  it  grew  a  little  louder;  then  a  whisper: 

*'Dick,  Dick,  it  is  I!" 

Dick  ran  to  the  door,  drew  the  bolt,  and  admitted 
Matcham.  He  was  very  pale,  and  carried  a  lamp  in  one 
hand  and  a  drawn  dagger  in  the  other. 

'*Shut  me  the  door,"  he  whispered.  *' Swift,  Dick! 
This  house  is  full  of  spies;  I  hear  their  feet  follow  me  in 
the  corridors;  I  hear  them  breathe  behind  the  arras." 

"Well,  content  you,"  returned  Dick,  "it  is  closed. 
We  are  safe  for  this  while,  if  there  be  safety  anywhere 
within  these  walls.  But  my  heart  is  glad  to  see  you. 
By  the  mass,  lad,  I  thought  ye  were  sped!  Where  hid 
ye?" 

"  It  matters  not,"  returned  Matcham.  "  Since  we  be 
met,  it  matters  not.  But,  Dick,  are  your  eyes  open  ? 
Have  they  told  you  of  to-morrow's  doings  ?  " 

"Not  they,"  replied  Dick.  "What  make  they  to- 
morrow ?  " 

* '  To-morrow,  or  to-night,  I  know  not, "  said  the  other, 
"  but  one  time  or  other,  Dick,  they  do  intend  upon  your 
life.  I  had  the  proof  of  it;  I  have  heard  them  whisper; 
nay,  they  as  good  as  told  me." 

"Ay,"  returned  Dick,  "is  it  so?  I  had  thought  as 
much." 

And  he  told  him  the  day's  occurrences  at  length. 

When  it  was  done,  Matcham  arose  and  began,  in 
turn,  to  examine  the  apartment. 

* '  No, "  he  said,  * '  there  is  no  entrance  visible.  Yet  'tis 
114 


THE  ROOM   OVER  THE  CHAPEL 

a  pure  certainty  there  is  one.  Dick,  I  will  stay  by  you. 
An  y'  are  to  die,  I  will  die  with  you.  And  I  can  help  — 
look !  I  have  stolen  a  dagger  —  I  will  do  my  best !  And 
meanwhile,  an  ye  know  of  any  issue,  any  sally-port  we 
could  get  opened,  or  any  window  that  we  might  de- 
scend by,  I  will  most  joyfully  face  any  jeopardy  to  flee 
with  you." 

"Jack,"  said  Dick,  **by  the  mass,  Jack,  y'  are  the 
best  soul,  and  the  truest,  and  the  bravest  in  all  England! 
Give  me  your  hand.  Jack." 

And  he  grasped  the  other's  hand  in  silence. 

**  I  will  tell  you,"  he  resumed.  "  There  is  a  window, 
out  of  which  the  messenger  descended;  the  rope  should 
still  be  in  the  chamber.     Tis  a  hope." 

"  Hist!  "  said  Matcham. 

Both  gave  ear.  There  was  a  sound  below  the  floor; 
then  it  paused,  and  then  began  again. 

**Some  one  walketh  in  the  room  below,"  whispered 
Matcham. 

"Nay,"  returned  Dick,  "there  is  no  room  below;  we 
are  above  the  chapel.  It  is  my  murderer  in  the  secret 
passage.  Well,  let  him  come;  it  shall  go  hard  with 
him;"  and  he  ground  his  teeth. 

"Blow  me  the  lights  out,"  said  the  other.  "Per- 
chance he  will  betray  himself." 

They  blew  out  both  the  lamps  and  lay  still  as  death. 
The  footfalls  underneath  were  very  soft,  but  they  were 
clearly  audible.  Several  times  they  came  and  went ;  and 
then  there  was  a  loud  jar  of  a  key  turning  in  a  lock,  fol- 
lowed by  a  considerable  silence. 

Presently  the  steps  began  again,  and  then,  all  of  a 
sudden,  a  chink  of  light  appeared  in  the  planking  of  the 

"5 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

room  in  a  far  corner.  It  widened ;  a  trap-door  was  be- 
ing opened,  letting  in  a  gush  of  light.  They  could  see 
the  strong  hand  pushing  it  up ;  and  Dick  raised  his  cross- 
bow, waiting  for  the  head  to  follow. 

But  now  there  came  an  interruption.  From  a  distant 
corner  of  the  Moat  House  shouts  began  to  be  heard,  and 
first  one  voice,  and  then  several,  crying  aloud  upon  a 
name.  This  noise  had  plainly  disconcerted  the  mur- 
derer, for  the  trap-door  was  silently  lowered  to  its  place, 
and  the  steps  hurriedly  returned,  passed  once  more  close 
below  the  lads,  and  died  away  in  the  distance. 

Here  was  a  moment's  respite.  Dick  breathed  deep, 
and  then,  and  not  till  then,  he  gave  ear  to  the  disturb- 
ance which  had  interrupted  the  attack,  and  which  was 
now  rather  increasing  than  diminishing.  All  about  the 
Moat  House  feet  were  running,  doors  were  opening  and 
slamming,  and  still  the  voice  of  Sir  Daniel  towered  above 
all  this  bustle,  shouting  for  *' Joanna." 

"Joanna!"  repeated  Dick.  ''Why,  who  the  mur- 
rain should  this  be  ?  Here  is  no  Joanna,  nor  ever  hath 
been.     What  meaneth  it  ?  " 

Matcham  was  silent.  He  seemed  to  have  drawn  fur- 
ther away.  But  only  a  little  faint  starlight  entered  by 
the  window,  and  at  the  far  end  of  the  apartment,  where 
the  pair  were,  the  darkness  was  complete. 

*'Jack,"  said  Dick,  "  I  wot  not  where  ye  were  all  day. 
Saw  ye  this  Joanna  ?  " 

"Nay,"  returned  Matcham,  "I  saw  her  not." 

"Nor  heard  tell  of  her  ?  "  he  pursued. 

The  steps  drew  nearer.  Sir  Daniel  was  still  roaring 
the  name  of  Joanna  from  the  courtyard. 

"  Did  ye  hear  of  her  ?  "  repeated  Dick. 
116 


THE  ROOM  OVER  THE  CHAPEL 

"I  heard  of  her,"  said  Matcham. 

*'  How  your  voice  twitters !  What  aileth  you  ?  "  said 
Dick.  *  *  'Tis  a  most  excellent  good  fortune,  this  Joanna ; 
it  will  take  their  minds  from  us." 

"Dick,"  cried  Matcham,  "I  am  lost;  we  are  both 
lost.  Let  us  flee  if  there  be  yet  time.  They  will  not 
rest  till  they  have  found  me.  Or,  see!  let  me  go  forth; 
when  they  have  found  me,  ye  may  flee.  Let  me  forth, 
Dick  —  good  Dick,  let  me  away!  " 

She  was  groping  for  the  bolt,  when  Dick  at  last  com- 
prehended. 

"By  the  mass!"  he  cried,  "y'  are  no  Jack;  y'  are 
Joanna  Sedley;  y'  are  the  maid  that  would  not  marry 
me!" 

The  girl  paused,  and  stood  silent  and  motionless. 
Dick,  too,  was  silent  for  a  little;  then  he  spoke  again. 

"Joanna,"  he  said,  "y'  'ave  saved  my  life,  and  I  have 
saved  yours;  and  we  have  seen  blood  flow,  and  been 
friends  and  enemies  —  ay,  and  I  took  my  belt  to  thrash 
you ;  and  all  that  time  I  thought  ye  were  a  boy.  But 
now  death  has  me,  and  my  time's  out,  and  before  I  die 
I  must  say  this :  Y'  are  the  best  maid  and  the  bravest 
under  heaven,  and,  if  only  I  could  live,  I  would  marry 
you  blithely;  and,  live  or  die,  I  love  you." 

She  answered  nothing. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "speak  up.  Jack.  Come,  be  a 
good  maid,  and  say  ye  love  me! " 

"Why,  Dick,"  she  cried,  "would  I  be  here?" 

"Well,  see  ye  here,"  continued  Dick,  "an  we  but 
escape  whole  we'll  marry;  and  an  we're  to  die,  we  die, 
and  there's  an  end  on't.  But  now  that  I  think,  how 
found  ye  my  chamber  ?  " 

117 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

"I  asked  it  of  Dame  Hatch,"  she  answered. 

*'WelI,  the  dame's  staunch,"  he  answered;  *' she'll 
not  tell  upon  you.     We  have  time  before  us." 

And  just  then,  as  if  to  contradict  his  words,  feet  came 
down  the  corridor,  and  a  fist  beat  roughly  on  the  door. 

*  *  Here ! "  cried  a  voice.   ' '  Open,  Master  Dick ;  open ! " 

Dick  neither  moved  nor  answered. 

"It  is  all  over,"  said  the  girl;  and  she  put  her  arms 
about  Dick's  neck. 

One  after  another,  men  came  trooping  to  the  door. 
Then  Sir  Daniel  arrived  himself,  and  there  was  a  sudden 
cessation  of  the  noise. 

' '  Dick, "  cried  the  knight,  ' '  be  not  an  ass.  The  Seven 
Sleepers  had  been  awake  ere  now.  We  know  she  is 
within  there.     Open,  then,  the  door,  man." 

Dick  was  again  silent. 

"Down  with  it,"  said  Sir  Daniel.  And  immediately 
his  followers  fell  savagely  upon  the  door  with  foot  and 
fist.  Solid  as  it  was,  and  strongly  bolted,  it  would 
soon  have  given  way;  but  once  more  fortune  inter- 
fered. Over  the  thunderstorm  of  blows  the  cry  of  a 
sentinel  was  heard;  it  was  followed  by  another;  shouts 
ran  along  the  battlements,  shouts  answered  out  of  the 
wood.  In  the  first  moment  of  alarm  it  sounded  as  if  the 
foresters  were  carrying  the  Moat  House  by  assault.  And 
Sir  Daniel  and  his  men,  desisting  instantly  from  their 
attack  upon  Dick's  chamber,  hurried  to  defend  the  walls. 

"Now,"  cried  Dick,  "we  are  saved." 

He  seized  the  great  old  bedstead  with  both  hands,  and 
bent  himself  in  vain  to  move  it. 

"  Help  me.  Jack.  For  your  life's  sake,  help  me  stout- 
ly ! "  he  cried. 

ii8 


THE  ROOM  OVER  THE  CHAPEL 

Between  them,  with  a  huge  effort,  they  dragged  the 
big  frame  of  oak  across  the  room,  and  thrust  it  endwise 
to  the  chamber  door. 

"Ye  do  but  make  things  worse,"  said  Joanna,  sadly. 
*'  He  will  then  enter  by  the  trap." 

' '  Not  so, "  replied  Dick.  ' '  He  durst  not  tell  his  secret 
to  so  many.  It  is  by  the  trap  that  we  shall  flee.  Hark! 
The  attack  is  over.     Nay,  it  was  none!  " 

It  had,  indeed,  been  no  attack ;  it  was  the  arrival  of 
another  party  of  stragglers  from  the  defeat  of  Risingham 
that  had  disturbed  Sir  Daniel.  They  had  run  the  gaunt- 
let under  cover  of  the  darkness;  they  had  been  admitted 
by  the  great  gate;  and  now,  with  a  great  stamping  of 
hoofs  and  jingle  of  accoutrements  and  arms,  they  were 
dismounting  in  the  court. 

" He  will  return  anon,"  said  Dick.     "To  the  trap! " 

He  lighted  a  lamp,  and  they  went  together  into  the 
corner  of  the  room.  The  open  chink  through  which 
some  light  still  glittered  was  easily  discovered,  and,  tak- 
ing a  stout  sword  from  his  small  armoury,  Dick  thrust 
it  deep  into  the  seam,  and  weighed  strenuously  on  the 
hilt.  The  trap  moved,  gaped  a  little,  and  at  length  came 
widely  open.  Seizing  it  with  their  hands,  the  two  young 
folk  threw  it  back.  It  disclosed  a  few  steps  descending, 
and  at  the  foot  of  them,  where  the  would-be  murderer 
had  left  it,  a  burning  lamp. 

"Now,"  said  Dick,  "go  first  and  take  the  lamp.  I 
will  follow  to  close  the  trap." 

So  they  descended  one  after  the  other,  and  as  Dick 
lowered  the  trap,  the  blows  began  once  again  to  thun* 
der  on  the  panels  of  the  door. 


119 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  PASSAGE 

The  passage  in  which  Dick  and  Joanna  now  found 
themselves  was  narrow,  dirty,  and  short.  At  the  other 
end  of  it,  a  door  stood  partly  open;  the  same  door, 
without  doubt,  that  they  had  heard  the  man  unlocking. 
Heavy  cobwebs  hung  from  the  roof;  and  the  paved 
flooring  echoed  hollow  under  the  lightest  tread. 

Beyond  the  door  there  were  two  branches,  at  right 
angles.  Dick  chose  one  of  them  at  random,  and  the 
pair  hurried,  with  echoing  footsteps,  along  the  hollow 
of  the  chapel  roof  The  top  of  the  arched  ceiling  rose 
like  a  whale's  back  in  the  dim  glimmer  of  the  lamp. 
Here  and  there  were  spyholes,  concealed,  on  the  other 
side,  by  the  carving  of  the  cornice;  and  looking  down 
through  one  of  these,  Dick  saw  the  paved  floor  of  the 
chapel — ^the  altar,  with  its  burning  tapers — and  stretched 
before  it  on  the  steps,  the  figure  of  Sir  Oliver  praying 
with  uplifted  hands. 

At  the  other  end,  they  descended  a  few  steps.  The 
passage  grew  narrower;  the  wall  upon  one  hand  was 
now  of  wood ;  the  noise  of  people  talking,  and  a  faint 
flickering  of  lights,  came  through  the  interstices ;  and 
presently  they  came  to  a  round  hole  about  the  size  of  a 
man's  eye,  and  Dick,  looking  down  through  it,  beheld 

120 


THE  PASSAGE 

the  interior  of  the  hall,  and  some  half  a  dozen  men  sitting, 
in  their  jacks,  about  the  table,  drinking  deep  and  de- 
molishing a  venison  pie.  These  were  certainly  some 
of  the  late  arrivals. 

**  Here  is  no  help,"  said  Dick.     **  Let  us  try  back." 

**Nay,"  said  Joanna;  ** maybe  the  passage  goeth 
farther." 

And  she  pushed  on.  But  a  few  yards  farther  the  pas- 
sage ended  at  the  top  of  a  short  flight  of  steps;  and  it 
became  plain  that,  as  long  as  the  soldiers  occupied  the 
hall,  escape  was  impossible  upon  that  side. 

They  retraced  their  steps  with  all  imaginable  speed, 
and  set  forward  to  explore  the  other  branch.  It  was 
exceedingly  narrow,  scarce  wide  enough  for  a  large  man ; 
and  it  led  them  continually  up  and  down  by  little  break- 
neck stairs,  until  even  Dick  had  lost  all  notion  of  his 
whereabouts. 

At  length  it  grew  both  narrower  and  lower;  the  stairs 
continued  to  descend ;  the  walls  on  either  hand  became 
damp  and  slimy  to  the  touch;  and  far  in  front  of  them 
they  heard  the  squeaking  and  scuttling  of  the  rats. 

"We  must  be  in  the  dungeons,"  Dick  remarked. 

"And  still  there  is  no  outlet,"  added  Joanna. 

"Nay,  but  an  outlet  there  must  be!  "  Dick  answered. 

Presently,  sure  enough,  they  came  to  a  sharp  angle, 
and  then  the  passage  ended  in  a  flight  of  steps.  On  the 
top  of  that  there  was  a  solid  flag  of  stone  by  way  of  trap, 
and  to  this  they  both  set  their  backs.    It  was  immovable. 

"Some  one  holdeth  it,"  suggested  Joanna. 

"Not  so,"  said  Dick;  "for  were  a  man  strong  as  ten, 
he  must  still  yield  a  little.  But  this  resisteth  like  dead 
rock.    There  is  a  weight  upon  the  trap.     Here  is  no  is- 

131 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

sue ;  and,  by  my  sooth,  good  Jack,  we  are  here  as  fairly 
prisoners  as  though  the  gyves  were  on  our  ankle  bones. 
Sit  ye  then  down,  and  let  us  talk.  After  a  while  we  shall 
return,  when  perchance  they  shall  be  less  carefully  upon 
their  guard ;  and,  who  knoweth  ?  we  may  break  out  and 
stand  a  chance.  But,  in  my  poor  opinion,  we  are  as  good 
asshent." 

**  Dick! "  she  cried,  "  alas  the  day  that  ever  ye  should 
have  seen  me!  For  like  a  most  unhappy  and  unthank- 
ful maid,  it  is  I  have  led  you  hither." 

"  What  cheer! "  returned  Dick.  "  It  was  all  written, 
and  that  which  is  written,  willy  nilly,  cometh  still  to  pass. 
But  tell  me  a  little  what  manner  of  a  maid  ye  are,  and  how 
ye  came  into  Sir  Daniel's  hands;  that  will  do  better  than 
to  bemoan  yourself,  whether  for  your  sake  or  mine." 

"  I  am  an  orphan,  like  yourself,  of  father  and  mother," 
said  Joanna;  *'and  for  my  great  misfortune,  Dick,  and 
hitherto  for  yours,  I  am  a  rich  marriage.  My  Lord  Fox- 
ham  had  me  to  ward ;  yet  it  appears  Sir  Daniel  bought 
the  marriage  of  me  from  the  king,  and  a  right  dear  price 
he  paid  for  it.  So  here  was  I,  poor  babe,  with  two  great 
and  rich  men  fighting  which  should  marry  me,  and  1  still 
at  nurse!  Well,  then  the  world  changed,  and  there  was 
a  new  chancellor,  and  Sir  Daniel  bought  the  warding  of 
me  over  the  Lord  Foxham's  head.  And  then  the  world 
changed  again,  and  Lord  Foxham  bought  my  marriage 
over  Sir  Daniel's;  and  from  then  to  now  it  went  on  ill 
betwixt  the  two  of  them.  But  still  Lord  Foxham  kept 
me  in  his  hands,  and  was  a  good  lord  to  me.  And  at 
last  I  was  to  be  married  —  or  sold,  if  ye  like  it  better. 
Five  hundred  pounds  Lord  Foxham  was  to  get  for  me. 
Hamley  was  the  groom's  name,  and  to-morrow,  Dick, 

122 


THE   PASSAGE 

of  all  days  in  the  year,  was  I  to  be  betrothed.  Ha'd  it 
not  come  to  Sir  Daniel,  1  had  been  wedded,  sure  —  and 
never  seen  thee,  Dick  —  dear  Dick!  " 

And  here  she  took  his  hand,  and  kissed  it,  with  the 
prettiest  grace;  and  Dick  drew  her  hand  to  him  and  did 
the  like. 

"Well,"  she  went  on,  "  Sir  Daniel  took  me  unawares 
in  the  garden,  and  made  me  dress  in  these  men's  clothes, 
which  is  a  deadly  sin  for  a  woman ;  and,  besides,  they 
fit  me  not.  He  rode  with  me  to  Kettley,  as  ye  saw, 
telling  me  1  was  to  marry  you;  but  1,  in  my  heart,  made 
sure  I  would  marry  Hamley  in  his  teeth. " 

"Ay!"  cried  Dick,  "and  so  ye  loved  this  Hamley!" 

"Nay,"  replied  Joanna,  "not  I.  I  did  but  hate  Sir 
Daniel.  And  then,  Dick,  ye  helped  me,  and  ye  were 
right  kind,  and  very  bold,  and  my  heart  turned  towards 
you  in  mine  own  despite;  and  now,  if  we  can  in  any 
way  compass  it,  1  would  marry  you  with  right  good- 
will. And  if,  by  cruel  destiny,  it  may  not  be,  still  ye'll 
be  dear  to  me.  While  my  heart  beats,  it'll  be  true  to 
you." 

"And  I,"  said  Dick,  "that  never  cared  a  straw  for 
any  manner  of  woman  until  now,  I  took  to  you  when 
I  thought  ye  were  a  boy.  1  had  a  pity  to  you,  and  knew 
not  why.  When  1  would  have  belted  you,  the  hand 
failed  me.  But  when  ye  owned  ye  were  a  maid.  Jack 
—  for  still  1  will  call  you  Jack  —  I  made  sure  ye  were  the 
maid  for  me.  Hark!"  he  said,  breaking  off — "one 
Cometh." 

And  indeed  a  heavy  tread  was  now  audible  in  the 
echoing  passage,  and  the  rats  again  fled  in  armies. 

Dick  reconnoitred  his   position.     The  sudden  turn 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

gave  him  a  post  of  vantage.  He  could  thus  shoot  in 
safety  from  the  cover  of  the  wall.  But  it  was  plain  the 
light  was  too  near  him,  and,  running  some  way  for- 
ward, he  set  down  the  lamp  in  the  middle  of  the  pas- 
sage, and  then  returned  to  watch. 

Presently,  at  the  far  end  of  the  passage,  Bennet  hove 
in  sight.  He  seemed  to  be  alone,  and  he  carried  in  his 
hand  a  burning  torch,  which  made  him  the  better  mark. 

"Stand,  Bennet!"  cried  Dick.  ''Another  step,  and 
y'  are  dead." 

*'So  here  ye  are,"  returned  Hatch,  peering  forward 
into  the  darkness.  '*  I  see  you  not.  Aha!  y'  'ave  done 
wisely,  Dick;  y'  *ave  put  your  lamp  before  you.  By 
my  sooth,  but,  though  it  was  done  to  shoot  my  own 
knave  body,  I  do  rejoice  to  see  ye  profit  of  my  lessons ! 
And  now,  what  make  ye  ?  what  seek  ye  here  ?  Why 
would  ye  shoot  upon  an  old,  kind  friend  ?  And  have 
ye  the  young  gentlewoman  there  ?  " 

**Nay,  Bennet,  it  is  I  should  question  and  you  an- 
swer," replied  Dick.  "Why  am  I  in  this  jeopardy  of 
my  life  ?  Why  do  men  come  privily  to  slay  me  in  my 
bed  ?  Why  am  I  now  fleeing  in  mine  own  guardian's 
strong  house,  and  from  the  friends  that  I  have  lived 
among  and  never  injured  ?  " 

"  Master  Dick,  Master  Dick,"  said  Bennet,  "what  told 
I  you  ?  Y'  are  brave,  but  the  most  uncrafty  lad  that  I 
can  think  upon!" 

"  Well,"  returned  Dick,  "  I  see  ye  know  all,  and  that 
I  am  doomed  indeed.  It  is  well.  Here,  where  I  am,  I 
stay.     Let  Sir  Daniel  get  me  out  if  he  be  able! " 

Hatch  was  silent  for  a  space. 

" Hark  ye,"  he  began,  "I  return  to  Sir  Daniel,  to  tell 
124 


THE  PASSAGE 

him  where  ye  are,  and  how  posted ;  for,  in  truth,  it  was 
to  that  end  he  sent  me.  But  you,  if  ye  are  no  fool, 
had  best  be  gone  ere  I  return." 

"Begone!"  repeated  Dick.  **I  would  be  gone  al- 
ready, an'  I  wist  how.    1  cannot  move  the  trap." 

"  Put  me  your  hand  into  the  corner,  and  see  what  ye 
find  there,"  replied  Bennet.  ''Throgmorton's  rope  is 
still  in  the  brown  chamber.     Fare  ye  well." 

And  Hatch,  turning  upon  his  heel,  disappeared  again 
into  the  windings  of  the  passage. 

Dick  instantly  returned  for  his  lamp,  and  proceeded 
to  act  upon  the  hint.  At  one  corner  of  the  trap  there 
was  a  deep  cavity  in  the  wall.  Pushing  his  arm  into 
the  aperture,  Dick  found  an  iron  bar,  which  he  thrust 
vigorously  upwards.  There  followed  a  snapping  noise, 
and  the  slab  of  stone  instantly  started  in  its  bed. 

They  were  free  of  the  passage.  A  little  exercise  of 
strength  easily  raised  the  trap ;  and  they  came  forth  into 
a  vaulted  chamber,  opening  on  one  hand  upon  the  court, 
where  one  or  two  fellows,  with  bare  arms,  were  rub- 
bing down  the  horses  of  the  last  arrivals.  A  torch  or 
two,  each  stuck  in  an  iron  ring  against  the  wall,  change- 
fully  lit  up  the  scene. 


135 


CHAPTER  V 

HOW   DICK  CHANGED  SIDES 

Dick,  blowing  out  his  lamp  lest  it  should  attract  at- 
tention, led  the  way  up-stairs  and  along  the  corridor. 
In  the  brown  chamber  the  rope  had  been  made  fast  to 
the  frame  of  an  exceeding  heavy  and  ancient  bed.  It 
had  not  been  detached,  and  Dick,  taking  the  coil  to  the 
window,  began  to  lower  it  slowly  and  cautiously  into 
the  darkness  of  the  night.  Joan  stood  by ;  but  as  the 
rope  lengthened,  and  still  Dick  continued  to  pay  it  out, 
extreme  fear  began  to  conquer  her  resolution. 

"Dick,"  she  said,  "is  it  so  deep?  I  may  not  essay 
it.     I  should  infallibly  fall,  good  Dick." 

It  was  just  at  the  delicate  moment  of  the  operations 
that  she  spoke.  Dick  started ;  the  remainder  of  the  coil 
slipped  from  his  grasp,  and  the  end  fell  with  a  splash 
into  the  moat.  Instantly,  from  the  battlement  above, 
the  voice  of  a  sentinel  cried,  "Who  goes  ?" 

"A  murrain!"  cried  Dick.  "We  are  paid  now! 
Down  with  you  —  take  the  rope." 

"I  cannot,"  she  cried,  recoiling. 

"  An  ye  cannot,  no  more  can  I,"  said  Shelton.  "  How 
can  I  swim  the  moat  without  you  ?  Do  you  desert  me, 
then?" 

"Dick,"  she  gasped,  "I  cannot.  The  strength  is 
gone  from  me." 

136 


HOW   DICK   CHANGED  SIDES 

"  By  the  mass,  then,  we  are  all  shent! "  he  shouted, 
stamping  with  his  foot;  and  then,  hearing  steps,  he  ran 
to  the  room  door  and  sought  to  close  it. 

Before  he  could  shoot  the  bolt,  strong  arms  were 
thrusting  it  back  upon  him  from  the  other  side.  He 
struggled  for  a  second ;  then,  feeling  himself  overpow- 
ered, ran  back  to  the  window.  The  girl  had  fallen 
against  the  wall  in  the  embrasure  of  the  window ;  she 
was  more  than  half  insensible;  and  when  he  tried  to 
raise  her  in  his  arms,  her  body  was  limp  and*  unre- 
sponsive. 

At  the  same  moment  the  men  who  had  forced  the 
door  against  him  laid  hold  upon  him.  The  first  he 
poinarded  at  a  blow,  and  the  others  falling  back  for  a 
second  in  some  disorder,  he  profited  by  the  chance,  be- 
strode the  window-sill,  seized  the  cord  in  both  hands, 
and  let  his  body  slip. 

The  cord  was  knotted,  which  made  it  the  easier  to 
descend;  but  so  furious  was  Dick's  hurry,  and  so  small 
his  experience  of  such  gymnastics,  that  he  span  round 
and  round  in  mid-air  like  a  criminal  upon  a  gibbet,  and 
now  beat  his  head,  and  now  bruised  his  hands,  against 
the  rugged  stonework  of  the  wall.  The  air  roared  in 
his  ears;  he  saw  the  stars  overhead,  and  the  reflected 
stars  below  him  in  the  moat,  whirling  like  dead  leaves 
before  the  tempest.  And  then  he  lost  hold,  and  fell, 
and  soused  head  over  ears  into  the  icy  water. 

When  he  came  to  the  surface  his  hand  encountered 
the  rope,  which,  newly  lightened  of  his  weight,  was 
swinging  wildly  to  and  fro.  There  was  a  red  glow 
overhead,  and  looking  up,  he  saw,  by  the  light  of  sev- 
eral torches  and  a  cresset  full  of  burning  coals,  the  bat- 

127 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

tlements  lined  with  faces.  He  saw  the  men's  eyes 
turning  hither  and  thither  in  quest  of  him ;  but  he  was 
too  far  below,  the  light  reached  him  not,  and  they 
looked  in  vain. 

And  now  he  perceived  that  the  rope  was  consider- 
ably too  long,  and  he  began  to  struggle  as  well  as  he 
could  towards  the  other  side  of  the  moat,  still  keeping 
his  head  above  water.  In  this  way  he  got  much  more 
than  halfway  over;  indeed  the  bank  was  almost  within 
reach,  before  the  rope  began  to  draw  him  back  by  its 
own  weight.  Taking  his  courage  in  both  hands,  he 
left  go  and  made  a  leap  for  the  trailing  sprays  of  willow 
that  had  already,  that  same  evening,  helped  Sir  Daniel's 
messenger  to  land.  He  went  down,  rose  again,  sank  a 
second  time,  and  then  his  hand  caught  a  branch,  and 
with  the  speed  of  thought  he  had  dragged  himself  into 
the  thick  of  the  tree  and  clung  there,  dripping  and  pant- 
ing, and  still  half  uncertain  of  his  escape. 

But  all  this  had  not  been  done  without  a  considerable 
splashing,  which  had  so  far  indicated  his  position  to  the 
men  along  the  battlements.  Arrows  and  quarrels  fell 
thick  around  him  in  the  darkness,  thick  like  driving  hail; 
and  suddenly  a  torch  was  thrown  down — flared  through 
the  air  in  its  swift  passage — stuck  for  a  moment  on  the 
edge  of  the  bank,  where  it  burned  high  and  lit  up  its 
whole  surroundings  like  a  bonfire  —  and  then,  in  a  good 
hour  for  Dick,  slipped  off,  plumped  into  the  moat,  and 
was  instantly  extinguished. 

It  had  served  its  purpose.  The  marksmen  had  had 
time  to  see  the  willow,  and  Dick  ensconced  among  its 
boughs ;  and  though  the  lad  instantly  sprang  higher  up 
the  bank,  and  ran  for  his  life,  he  was  yet  not  quick 

128 


HOW   DICK  CHANGED   SIDES 

enough  to  escape  a  shot.  An  arrow  struck  him  in  the 
shoulder,  another  grazed  his  head. 

The  pain  of  his  wounds  lent  him  wings ;  and  he  had 
no  sooner  got  upon  the  level  than  he  took  to  his  heels 
and  ran  straight  before  him  in  the  dark,  without  a  thought 
for  the  direction  of  his  flight. 

For  a  few  steps  missiles  followed  him,  but  these  soon 
ceased ;  and  when  at  length  he  came  to  a  halt  and  looked 
behind,  he  was  already  a  good  way  from  the  Moat 
House,  though  he  could  still  see  the  torches  moving  to 
and  fro  along  its  battlements. 

He  leaned  against  a  tree,  streaming  with  blood  and 
water,  bruised,  wounded,  alone,  and  unarmed.  For  all 
that,  he  had  saved  his  life  for  that  bout;  and  though 
Joanna  remained  behind  in  the  power  of  Sir  Daniel,  he 
neither  blamed  himself  for  an  accident  that  it  had  been 
beyond  his  power  to  prevent,  nor  did  he  augur  any  fatal 
consequences  to  the  girl  herself.  Sir  Daniel  was  cruel, 
but  he  was  not  likely  to  be  cruel  to  a  young  gentle- 
woman who  had  other  protectors,  willing  and  able  to 
bring  him  to  account.  It  was  more  probable  he  would 
make  haste  to  marry  her  to  some  friend  of  his  own. 

**Well,"  thought  Dick,  "between  then  and  now  I 
will  find  me  the  means  to  bring  that  traitor  under;  for 
I  think,  by  the  mass,  that  I  be  now  absolved  from  any 
gratitude  or  obligation ;  and  when  war  is  open,  there  is 
a  fair  chance  for  all." 

In  the  meanwhile,  here  he  was  in  a  sore  plight. 

For  some  little  way  farther  he  struggled  forward 
through  the  forest ;  but  what  with  the  pain  of  his  wounds, 
the  darkness  of  the  night,  and  the  extreme  uneasiness 
and  confusion  of  his  mind,  he  soon  became  equally  un- 

139 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

able  to  guide  himself  or  to  continue  to  push  through 
the  close  undergrowth,  and  he  was  fain  at  length  to  sit 
down  and  lean  his  back  against  a  tree. 

When  he  awoke  from  something  betwixt  sleep  and 
swooning,  the  grey  of  the  morning  had  begun  to  take 
the  place  of  night.  A  little  chilly  breeze  was  bustling 
among  the  trees,  and  as  he  still  sat  staring  before  him, 
only  half  awake,  he  became  aware  of  something  dark 
that  swung  to  and  fro  among  the  branches,  some  hun- 
dred yards  in  front  of  him.  The  progressive  brighten- 
ing of  the  day  and  the  return  of  his  own  senses  at  last 
enabled  him  to  recognise  the  object.  It  was  a  man 
hanging  from  the  bough  of  a  tall  oak.  His  head  had 
fallen  forward  on  his  breast ;  but  at  every  stronger  puff 
of  wind  his  body  span  round  and  round,  and  his  legs 
and  arms  tossed,  like  some  ridiculous  plaything. 

Dick  clambered  to  his  feet,  and,  staggering  and  lean- 
ing on  the  tree-trunks  as  he  went,  drew  near  to  this 
grim  object. 

The  bough  was  perhaps  twenty  feet  above  the  ground, 
and  the  poor  fellow  had  been  drawn  up  so  high  by  his 
executioners  that  his  boots  swung  clear  above  Dick's 
reach ;  and  as  his  hood  had  been  drawn  over  his  face, 
it  was  impossible  to  recognise  the  man. 

Dick  looked  about  him  right  and  left;  and  at  last  he 
perceived  that  the  other  end  of  the  cord  had  been  made 
fast  to  the  trunk  of  a  little  hawthorn  which  grew,  thick 
with  blossom,  under  the  lofty  arcade  of  the  oak.  With 
his  dagger,  which  alone  remained  to  him  of  all  his  arms, 
young  Shelton  severed  the  rope,  and  instantly,  with  a 
dead  thump,  the  corpse  fell  in  a  heap  upon  the  ground. 

Dick  raised  the  hood;  it  was  Throgmorton,  Sir  Dan- 
130 


HOW   DICK  CHANGED  SIDES 

id's  messenger.  He  had  not  gone  far  upon  his  errand. 
A  paper,  which  had  apparently  escaped  the  notice  of 
the  men  of  the  Black  Arrow,  stuck  from  the  bosom 
of  his  doublet,  and  Dick,  pulling  it  forth,  found  it  was 
Sir  Daniel's  letter  to  Lord  Wensleydale. 

"Come,"  thought  he,  "if  the  world  changes  yet 
again,  I  may  have  here  the  wherewithal  to  shame  Sir 
Daniel  —  nay,  and  perchance  to  bring  him  to  the  block." 

And  he  put  the  paper  in  his  own  bosom,  said  a  prayer 
over  the  dead  man,  and  set  forth  again  through  the 
woods. 

His  fatigue  and  weakness  increased;  his  ears  sang, 
his  steps  faltered,  his  mind  at  intervals  failed  him,  so 
low  had  he  been  brought  by  loss  of  blood.  Doubtless 
he  made  many  deviations  from  his  true  path,  but  at  last 
he  came  out  upon  the  high-road,  not  very  far  from  Tun- 
stall  hamlet. 

A  rough  voice  bid  him  stand. 

*'  Stand  ?  "  repeated  Dick.  "  By  the  mass,  but  I  am 
nearer  falling." 

And  he  suited  the  action  to  the  word,  and  fell  all  his 
length  upon  the  road. 

Two  men  came  forth  out  of  the  thicket,  each  in  green 
forest  jerkin,  each  with  long-bow  and  quiver  and  short 
sword. 

"  Why,  Lawless,"  said  the  younger  of  the  two,  *'  it 
is  young  Shelton." 

"Ay,  this  will  be  as  good  as  bread  to  John  Amend- 
All,"  returned  the  other.  "  Though,  faith,  he  hath  been 
to  the  wars.  Here  is  a  tear  in  his  scalp  that  must  'a' 
cost  him  many  a  good  ounce  of  blood." 

"And  here,"  added  Greensheve,  "is  a  hole  in  his 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

shoulder  that  must  have  pricked  him  well.  Who  hath 
done  this,  think  ye  ?  If  it  be  one  of  ours,  he  may  all  to 
prayer;  Ellis  will  give  him  a  short  shrift  and  a  long 
rope." 

*' Up  with  the  cub,"  said  Lawless.  ''Clap  him  on 
my  back." 

And  then,  when  Dick  had  been  hoisted  to  his  shoul- 
ders, and  he  had  taken  the  lad's  arms  about  his  neck, 
and  got  a  firm  hold  of  him,  the  ex-Grey  Friar  added: 

''Keep  ye  the  post,  brother  Greensheve.  1  will  on 
with  him  by  myself." 

So  Greensheve  returned  to  his  ambush  on  the  way- 
side, and  Lawless  trudged  down  the  hill,  whistling  as 
he  went,  with  Dick,  still  in  a  dead  faint,  comfortably 
settled  on  his  shoulders. 

The  sun  rose  as  he  came  out  of  the  skirts  of  the  wood 
and  saw  Tunstall  hamlet  straggling  up  the  opposite  hill. 
All  seemed  quiet,  but  a  strong  post  of  some  half  a  score 
of  archers  lay  close  by  the  bridge  on  either  side  of  the 
road,  and,  as  soon  as  they  perceived  Lawless  with  his 
burthen,  began  to  bestir  themselves  and  set  arrow  to 
string  like  vigilant  sentries. 

"Who  goes  ?"  cried  the  man  in  command. 

"Will  Lawless,  by  the  rood  —  ye  know  me  as  well 
as  your  own  hand,"  returned  the  outlaw,  contemptu- 
ously. 

"Give  the  word,  Lawless,"  returned  the  other. 

"Now,  Heaven  lighten  thee,  thou  great  fool,"  replied 
Lawless.  "Did  I  not  tell  it  thee  myself?  But  ye  are 
all  mad  for  this  playing  at  soldiers.  When  I  am  in  the 
greenwood,  give  me  greenwood  ways ;  and  my  word 
for  this  tide  is:  '  A  fig  for  all  mock  soldiery! ' " 

132 


HOW   DICK  CHANGED  SIDES 

** Lawless,  ye  but  show  an  ill  example;  give  us  the 
word,  fool  jester,"  said  the  commander  of  the  post. 

''And  if  1  had  forgotten  it?"  asked  the  other. 

**  An  ye  had  forgotten  it  —  as  I  know  y'  *ave  not  — 
by  the  mass,  1  would  clap  an  arrow  into  your  big  body," 
returned  the  first. 

"Nay,  an  y'  are  so  ill  a  jester,"  said  Lawless,  *'ye 
shall  have  your  word  for  me.  *  Duckworth  and  Shel- 
ton '  is  the  word ;  and  here,  to  the  illustration,  is  Shel- 
ton  on  my  shoulders,  and  to  Duckworth  do  1  carry 
him." 

''Pass,  Lawless,"  said  the  sentry. 

"And  where  is  John  ?"  asked  the  Grey  Friar. 

"He  holdeth  a  court,  by  the  mass,  and  taketh  rents 
as  to  the  manner  born ! "  cried  another  of  the  company. 

So  it  proved.  When  Lawless  got  as  far  up  the  vil- 
lage as  the  little  inn,  he  found  Ellis  Duckworth  sur- 
rounded by  Sir  Daniel's  tenants,  and,  by  the  right  of  his 
good  company  of  archers,  coolly  taking  rents,  and  giv- 
ing written  receipts  in  return  for  them.  By  the  faces 
of  the  tenants,  it  was  plain  how  little  this  proceeding 
pleased  them;  for  they  argued  very  rightly  that  they 
would  simply  have  to  pay  them  twice. 

As  soon  as  he  knew  what  had  brought  Lawless,  Ellis 
dismissed  the  remainder  of  the  tenants,  and,  with  every 
mark  of  interest  and  apprehension,  conducted  Dick  into 
an  inner  chamber  of  the  inn.  There  the  lad's  hurts 
were  looked  to;  and  he  was  recalled,  by  simple  reme- 
dies, to  consciousness. 

"Dear  lad,"  said  Ellis,  pressing  his  hand,  "y'  are  in 
a  friend's  hands  that  loved  your  father,  and  loves  you 
for  his  sake.    Rest  ye  a  little  quietly,  for  ye  are  some- 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

what  out  of  case.  Then  shall  ye  tell  me  your  story, 
and  betwixt  the  two  of  us  we  shall  find  a  remedy  for 
all." 

A  little  later  in  the  day,  and  after  Dick  had  awakened 
from  a  comfortable  slumber  to  find  himself  still  very 
weak,  but  clearer  in  mind  and  easier  in  body,  Ellis  re- 
turned, and  sitting  down  by  the  bedside,  begged  him, 
in  the  name  of  his  father,  to  relate  the  circumstance  of 
his  escape  from  Tunstall  Moat  House.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  strength  of  Duckworth's  frame,  in  the  hon- 
esty of  his  brown  face,  in  the  clearness  and  shrewdness 
of  his  eyes,  that  moved  Dick  to  obey  him ;  and  from 
first  to  last  the  lad  told  him  the  story  of  his  two  days' 
adventures. 

**Well,"  said  Ellis,  when  he  had  done,  "see  what 
the  kind  saints  have  done  for  you,  Dick  Shelton,  not 
alone  to  save  your  body  in  so  numerous  and  deadly 
perils,  but  to  bring  you  into  my  hands  that  have  no 
dearer  wish  than  to  assist  your  father's  son.  Be  but 
true  to  me  —  and  I  see  y'  are  true  —  and  betwixt  you 
and  me,  we  shall  bring  that  false-heart  traitor  to  the 
death." 

**Will  ye  assault  the  house  ?"  asked  Dick. 

*'I  were  mad,  indeed,  to  think  of  it,"  returned  Ellis. 
'*He  hath  too  much  power;  his  men  gather  to  him; 
those  that  gave  me  the  slip  last  night,  and  by  the  mass 
came  in  so  handily  for  you — those  have  made  him  safe. 
Nay,  Dick,  to  the  contrary,  thou  and  I  and  my  brave 
bowmen,  we  must  all  slip  from  this  forest  speedily,  and 
leave  Sir  Daniel  free." 

**My  mind  misgiveth  me  for  Jack,"  said  the  lad. 

''For  Jack!"  repeated  Duckworth.  "O,  I  see,  for 
'34 


HOW   DICK  CHANGED  SIDES 

the  wench !  Nay,  Dick,  I  promise  you,  if  there  come 
talk  of  any  marriage  we  shall  act  at  once;  till  then,  or 
till  the  time  is  ripe,  we  shall  all  disappear,  even  like 
shadows  at  morning;  Sir  Daniel  shall  look  east  and 
west,  and  see  none  enemies;  he  shall  think,  by  the 
mass,  that  he  hath  dreamed  awhile,  and  hath  now 
awakened  in  his  bed.  But  our  four  eyes,  Dick,  shall 
follow  him  right  close,  and  our  four  hands — so  help  us 
all  the  army  of  the  saints!  —  shall  bring  that  traitor 
low!" 

Two  days  later  Sir  Daniel's  garrison  had  grown  to 
such  a  strength  that  he  ventured  on  a  sally,  and  at  the 
head  of  some  two  score  horsemen,  pushed  without  op- 
position as  far  as  Tunstall  hamlet.  Not  an  arrow  flew, 
not  a  man  stirred  in  the  thicket;  the  bridge  was  no 
longer  guarded,  but  stood  open  to  all  comers ;  and  as 
Sir  Daniel  crossed  it,  he  saw  the  villagers  looking  tim- 
idly from  their  doors. 

Presently  one  of  them,  taking  heart  of  grace,  came 
forward,  and  with  the  lowliest  salutations,  presented  a 
letter  to  the  knight. 

His  face  darkened  as  he  read  the  contents.    It  ran  thus : 

To  the  most  untrui  and  cruel  gentylman,  Sir  Daniel  Brackley, 
Knygbt,  These: 
I  fynde  ye  were  untrue  and  unkynd  fro  the  first.  Ye  have  my  father's 
blood  upon  your  hands;  let  be,  it  will  not  wasshe.  Some  day  ye  shall 
perish  by  my  procurement,  so  much  I  let  you  to  wytte;  and  1  let  you 
to  wytte  farther,  that  if  ye  seek  to  wed  to  any  other  the  gentylwoman, 
Mistresse  Joan  Sedley,  whom  that  I  am  bound  upon  a  great  oath  to 
wed  myself,  the  blow  will  be  very  swift.  The  first  step  therinne  will 
be  thy  first  step  to  the  grave. 

Ric.  Shelton. 
U5 


BOOK  111 

MY  LORD  FOXHAM 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   HOUSE   BY   THE  SHORE 

MONTHS  had  passed  away  since  Richard  Shelton 
made  his  escape  from  the  hands  of  his  guardian. 
These  months  had  been  eventful  for  England.  The 
party  of  Lancaster,  which  was  then  in  the  very  article 
of  death,  had  once  more  raised  its  head.  The  Yorkists 
defeated  and  dispersed,  their  leader  butchered  on  the 
field,  it  seemed,  for  a  very  brief  season  in  the  winter 
following  upon  the  events  already  recorded,  as  if  the 
House  of  Lancaster  had  finally  triumphed  over  its  foes. 

The  small  town  of  Shoreby-on-the-Till  was  full  of  the 
Lancastrian  nobles  of  the  neighbourhood.  Earl  Rising- 
ham  was  there,  with  three  hundred  men-at-arms ;  Lord 
Shoreby,  with  two  hundred ;  Sir  Daniel  himself,  high  in 
favour  and  once  more  growing  rich  on  confiscations, 
lay  in  a  house  of  his  own,  on  the  main  street,  with 
three-score  men.     The  world  had  changed  indeed. 

It  was  a  black,  bitter  cold  evening  in  the  first  week 
of  January,  with  a  hard  frost,  a  high  wind,  and  every 
likelihood  of  snow  before  the  morning. 

In  an  obscure  alehouse  in  a  by-street  near  the  harbour, 
three  or  four  men  sat  drinking  ale  and  eating  a  hasty 
mess  of  eggs.  They  were  all  likely,  lusty,  weather- 
beaten  fellows,  hard  of  hand,  bold  of  eye;  and  though 

i>9 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

they  wore  plain  tabards,  like  country  ploughmen,  even 
a  drunken  soldier  might  have  looked  twice  before  he 
sought  a  quarrel  in  such  company. 

A  little  apart  before  the  huge  fire  sat  a  younger  man, 
almost  a  boy,  dressed  in  much  the  same  fashion,  though 
it  was  easy  to  see  by  his  looks  that  he  was  better  born, 
and  might  have  worn  a  sword,  had  the  time  suited. 

"Nay,"  said  one  of  the  men  at  the  table,  ''I  like  it 
not.  Ill  will  come  of  it.  This  is  no  place  for  jolly  fel- 
lows. A  jolly  fellow  loveth  open  country,  good  cover, 
and  scarce  foes;  but  here  we  are  shut  in  a  town,  girt 
about  with  enemies ;  and,  for  the  bull's-eye  of  misfor- 
tune, see  if  it  snow  not  ere  the  morning." 

*'Tis  for  Master  Shelton  there,"  said  another,  nod- 
ding his  head  towards  the  lad  before  the  fire. 

*M  will  do  much  for  Master  Shelton,"  returned  the 
first;  "but  to  come  to  the  gallows  for  any  man  —  nay, 
brothers,  not  that !  " 

The  door  of  the  inn  opened,  and  another  man  entered 
hastily  and  approached  the  youth  before  the  fire. 

"Master  Shelton,"  he  said,  "Sir  Daniel  goeth  forth 
with  a  pair  of  links  and  four  archers." 

Dick  (for  this  was  our  young  friend)  rose  instantly  to 
his  feet. 

"Lawless,"  he  said,  "ye  will  take  John  Capper's 
watch.  Greensheve,  follow  with  me.  Capper,  lead 
forward.  We  will  follow  him  this  time,  an  he  go  to 
York." 

The  next  moment  they  were  outside  in  the  dark 
street,  and  Capper,  the  man  who  had  just  come,  pointed 
to  where  two  torches  flared  in  the  wind  at  a  little  dis- 
tance. 

140 


THE  HOUSE  BY  THE  SHORE 

The  town  was  already  sound  asleep ;  no  one  moved 
upon  the  streets,  and  there  was  nothing  easier  than  to 
follow  the  party  without  observation.  The  two  link- 
bearers  went  first ;  next  followed  a  single  man,  whose 
long  cloak  blew  about  him  in  the  wind;  and  the  rear 
was  brought  up  by  the  four  archers,  each  with  his  bow 
upon  his  arm.  They  moved  at  a  brisk  walk,  threading 
the  intricate  lanes  and  drawing  nearer  to  the  shore. 

"  He  hath  gone  each  night  in  this  direction  ?"  asked 
Dick,  in  a  whisper. 

"This  is  the  third  night  running.  Master  Shelton," 
returned  Capper,  "and  still  at  the  same  hour  and  with 
the  same  small  following,  as  though  his  end  were 
secret. " 

Sir  Daniel  and  his  six  men  were  now  come  to  the  out- 
skirts of  the  country.  Shoreby  was  an  open  town,  and 
though  the  Lancastrian  lords  who  lay  there  kept  a  strong 
guard  on  the  main  roads,  it  was  still  possible  to  enter  or 
depart  unseen  by  any  of  the  lesser  streets  or  across  the 
open  country. 

The  lane  which  Sir  Daniel  had  been  following  came 
to  an  abrupt  end.  Before  him  there  was  a  stretch  of 
rough  down,  and  the  noise  of  the  sea-surf  was  audible 
upon  one  hand.  There  were  no  guards  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, nor  any  light  in  that  quarter  of  the  town. 

Dick  and  his  two  outlaws  drew  a  little  closer  to  the 
object  of  their  chase,  and  presently,  as  they  came  forth 
from  between  the  houses  and  could  see  a  little  farther 
upon  either  hand,  they  were  aware  of  another  torch 
drawing  near  from  another  direction. 

"Hey,"  said  Dick,  "I  smell  treason." 

Meanwhile,  Sir  Daniel  had  come  to  a  full  halt.  The 
141 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

torches  were  stuck  into  the  sand,  and  the  men  lay  down, 
as  if  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  other  party. 

This  drew  near  at  a  good  rate.  It  consisted  of  four 
men  only  —  a  pair  of  archers,  a  varlet  with  a  link,  and 
a  cloaked  gentleman  walking  in  their  midst. 

*'  Is  it  you,  my  lord  ?"  cried  Sir  Daniel. 

*'It  is  I,  indeed;  and  if  ever  true  knight  gave  proof 
I  am  that  man,"  replied  the  leader  of  the  second  troop; 
*'for  who  would  not  rather  face  giants,  sorcerers,  or 
pagans,  than  this  pinching  cold  ?  " 

"My  lord,"  returned  Sir  Daniel,  "beauty  will  be  the 
more  beholden,  misdoubt  it  not.  But  shall  we  forth  ? 
for  the  sooner  ye  have  seen  my  merchandise,  the  sooner 
shall  we  both  get  home." 

"  But  why  keep  ye  her  here,  good  knight  ?  "  inquired 
the  other.  "An  she  be  so  young,  and  so  fair,  and  so 
wealthy,  why  do  ye  not  bring  her  forth  among  her 
mates  ?  Ye  would  soon  make  her  a  good  marriage,  and 
no  need  to  freeze  your  fingers  and  risk  arrow-shots  by 
going  abroad  at  such  untimely  seasons  in  the  dark." 

"I  have  told  you,  my  lord,"  replied  Sir  Daniel,  "the 
reason  thereof  concerneth  me  only.  Neither  do  I  pur- 
pose to  explain  it  farther.  Suffice  it,  that  if  ye  be  weary 
of  your  old  gossip,  Daniel  Brackley,  publish  it  abroad 
that  y'  are  to  wed  Joanna  Sedley,  and  1  give  you  my 
word  ye  will  be  quit  of  him  right  soon.  Ye  will  find 
him  with  an  arrow  in  his  back." 

Meantime  the  two  gentlemen  were  walking  briskly 
forward  over  the  down ;  the  three  torches  going  before 
them,  stopping  against  the  wind  and  scattering  clouds 
of  smoke  and  tufts  of  flame,  and  the  rear  brought  up  by 
the  six  archers. 

142 


THE   HOUSE   BY   THE  SHORE 

Close  upon  the  heels  of  these,  Dick  followed.  He 
had,  of  course,  heard  no  word  of  this  conversation ;  but 
he  had  recognised  in  the  second  of  the  speakers  old 
Lord  Shoreby  himself,  a  man  of  an  infamous  reputa- 
tion, whom  even  Sir  Daniel  affected,  in  public,  to  con- 
demn. 

Presently  they  came  close  down  upon  the  beach.  The 
air  smelt  salt;  the  noise  of  the  surf  increased;  and  here, 
in  a  large  walled  garden,  there  stood  a  small  house  of 
two  storeys,  with  stables  and  other  offices. 

The  foremost  torch-bearer  unlocked  a  door  in  the 
wall,  and  after  the  whole  party  had  passed  into  the  gar- 
den, again  closed  and  locked  it  on  the  other  side. 

Dick  and  his  men  were  thus  excluded  from  any  far- 
ther following,  unless  they  should  scale  the  wall  and 
thus  put  their  necks  in  a  trap. 

They  sat  down  in  a  tuft  of  furze  and  waited.  The  red 
glow  of  the  torches  moved  up  and  down  and  to  and 
fro  within  the  enclosure,  as  if  the  link  bearers  steadily 
patrolled  the  garden. 

Twenty  minutes  passed,  and  then  the  whole  party 
issued  forth  again  upon  the  down ;  and  Sir  Daniel  and 
the  baron,  after  an  elaborate  salutation,  separated  and 
turned  severally  homeward,  each  with  his  own  follow- 
ing of  men  and  lights. 

As  soon  as  the  sound  of  their  steps  had  been  swal- 
lowed by  the  wind,  Dick  got  to  his  feet  as  briskly  as  he 
was  able,  for  he  was  stiff  and  aching  with  the  cold. 

"  Capper,  ye  will  give  me  a  back  up,"  he  said. 

They  advanced,  all  three,  to  the  wall ;  Capper  stooped, 
and  Dick,  getting  upon  his  shoulders,  clambered  on  to 
the  cope-stone. 

«43 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

"Now,  Greensheve,"  whispered  Dick,  "follow  me 
up  here ;  lie  flat  upon  your  face,  that  ye  may  be  the  less 
seen ;  and  be  ever  ready  to  give  me  a  hand  if  I  fall  foully 
on  the  other  side." 

And  so  saying  he  dropped  into  the  garden. 

It  was  all  pi^ch  dark;  there  was  no  light  in  the  house. 
The  wind  whistled  shrill  among  the  poor  shrubs,  and 
the  surf  beat  upon  the  beach ;  there  was  no  other  sound. 
Cautiously  Dick  footed  it  forth,  stumbling  among  bushes, 
and  groping  with  his  hands;  and  presently  the  crisp 
noise  of  gravel  underfoot  told  him  that  he  had  struck 
upon  an  alley. 

Here  he  paused,  and  taking  his  crossbow  from  where 
he  kept  it  concealed  under  his  long  tabard,  he  prepared 
it  for  instant  action,  and  went  forward  once  more  with 
greater  resolution  and  assurance.  The  path  led  him 
straight  to  the  group  of  buildings. 

All  seemed  to  be  sorely  dilapidated :  the  windows  of 
the  house  were  secured  by  crazy  shutters;  the  stables 
were  open  and  empty ;  there  was  no  hay  in  the  hay-loft, 
no  corn  in  the  corn-box.  Any  one  would  have  sup- 
posed the  place  to  be  deserted.  But  Dick  had  good 
reason  to  think  otherwise.  He  continued  his  inspection, 
visiting  the  offices,  trying  all  the  windows.  At  length 
he  came  round  to  the  sea-side  of  the  house,  and  there, 
sure  enough,  there  burned  a  pale  light  in  one  of  the 
upper  windows. 

He  stepped  back  a  little  way,  tili  he  thought  he  could 
see  the  movement  of  a  shadow  on  the  wall  of  the  apart- 
ment. Then  he  remembered  that,  in  the  stable,  his 
groping  hand  had  rested  for  a  moment  on  a  ladder, 
and  he  returned  with  all  despatch  to  bring  it.    The 

144 


THE  HOUSE  BY  THE  SHORE 

ladder  was  very  short,  but  yet,  by  standing  on  the  top- 
most round,  he  could  bring  his  hands  as  high  as  the 
iron  bars  of  the  window ;  and  seizing  these,  he  raised 
his  body  by  main  force  until  his  eyes  commanded  the 
interior  of  the  room. 

Two  persons  were  within ;  the  first  he  readily  knew 
to  be  Dame  Hatch ;  the  second,  a  tall  and  beautiful  and 
grave  young  lady,  in  a  long,  embroidered  dress  —  could 
that  be  Joanna  Sedley  ?  his  old  wood-companion.  Jack, 
whom  he  had  thought  to  punish  with  a  belt  ? 

He  dropped  back  again  to  the  top  round  of  the  ladder 
in  a  kind  of  amazement.  He  had  never  thought  of  his 
sweetheart  as  of  so  superior  a  being,  and  he  was  in- 
stantly taken  with  a  feeling  of  diffidence.  But  he  had 
little  opportunity  for  thought.  A  low  *'Hist!  "  sound- 
ed from  close  by,  and  he  hastened  to  descend  the  lad- 
der. 

"  Who  goes  ?  '*  he  whispered. 

"Greensheve,"  came  the  reply,  in  tones  similarly 
guarded. 

*'  What  want  ye  ?  "  asked  Dick. 

**The  house  is  watched,  Master  Shelton,"  returned 
the  outlaw.  **  We  are  not  alone  to  watch  it;  for  even 
as  I  lay  on  my  belly  on  the  wall  I  saw  men  prowling  in 
the  dark,  and  heard  them  whistle  softly  one  to  the 
other." 

"By  my  sooth,"  said  Dick,  "but  this  is  passing 
strange!     Were  they  not  men  of  Sir  Daniel's  ?  " 

"  Nay,  sir,  that  they  were  not,"  returned  Greensheve; 
"for  if  I  have  eyes  in  my  head,  every  man-Jack  of  them 
weareth  me  a  white  badge  in  his  bonnet,  something 
chequered  with  dark." 

>45. 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

** White,  chequered  with  dark,"  repeated  Dick. 
*' Faith,  'tis  a  badge  I  know  not.  It  is  none  of  this 
country's  badges.  Well,  an  that  be  so,  let  us  slip  as 
quietly  forth  from  this  garden  as  we  may ;  for  here  we 
are  in  an  evil  posture  for  defence.  Beyond  all  question 
there  are  men  of  Sir  Daniel's  in  that  house,  and  to  be 
taken  between  two  shots  is  a  beggarman's  position. 
Take  me  this  ladder;  I  must  leave  it  where  I  found  it." 

They  returned  the  ladder  to  the  stable,  and  groped 
their  way  to  the  place  where  they  had  entered. 

Capper  had  taken  Greensheve's  position  on  the  cope, 
and  now  he  leaned  down  his  hand,  and,  first  one  and 
then  the  other,  pulled  them  up. 

Cautiously  and  silently,  they  dropped  again  upon  the 
other  side ;  nor  did  they  dare  to  speak  until  they  had  re- 
turned to  their  old  ambush  in  the  gorse. 

"Now,  John  Capper,"  said  Dick,  ''back  with  you  to 
Shoreby,  even  as  for  your  life.  Bring  me  instantly  what 
men  ye  can  collect.  Here  shall  be  the  rendezvous;  or 
if  the  men  be  scattered  and  the  day  be  near  at  hand  be- 
fore they  muster,  let  the  place  be  something  farther 
back,  and  by  the  entering  in  of  the  town.  Greensheve 
and  I  lie  here  to  watch.  Speed  ye,  John  Capper,  and 
the  saints  aid  you  to  despatch.  And  now,  Greensheve," 
he  continued,  as  soon  as  Capper  had  departed,  "let 
thou  and  I  go  round  about  the  garden  in  a  wide  cir- 
cuit. I  would  fain  see  whether  thine  eyes  betrayed 
thee." 

Keeping  well  outwards  from  the  wall,  and  profiting 
by  every  height  and  hollow,  they  passed  about  two 
sides,  beholding  nothing.  On  the  third  side  the  garden 
wall  was  built  close  upon  the  beach,  and  to  preserve 

146 


THE  HOUSE   BY  THE  SHORE 

the  distance  necessary  to  their  purpose,  they  had  to  go 
some  way  down  upon  the  sands.  Although  the  tide 
was  still  pretty  far  out,  the  surf  was  so  high,  and  the 
sands  so  flat,  that  at  each  breaker  a  great  sheet  of  froth 
and  water  came  careering  over  the  expanse,  and  Dick 
and  Greensheve  made  this  part  of  their  inspection  wad- 
ing, now  to  the  ankles,  and  now  as  deep  as  to  the 
knees,  in  the  salt  and  icy  waters  of  the  German  Ocean. 

Suddenly,  against  the  comparative  whiteness  of  the 
garden  wall,  the  figure  of  a  man  was  seen,  like  a  faint 
Chinese  shadow,  violently  signalling  with  both  arms. 
As  he  dropped  again  to  the  earth,  another  arose  a  little 
farther  on  and  repeated  the  same  performance.  And 
so,  like  a  silent  watch  word,  these  gesticulations  made 
the  round  of  the  beleaguered  garden. 

**They  keep  good  watch,"  Dick  whispered. 

"  Let  us  back  to  land,  good  master,"  answered  Green- 
sheve. "We  stand  here  too  open;  for,  look  ye,  when 
the  seas  break  heavy  and  white  out  there  behind  us, 
they  shall  see  us  plainly  against  the  foam." 

**Ye  speak  sooth,"  returned  Dick.  **  Ashore  with 
us,  right  speedily." 


«47 


CHAPTER  II 

A  SKIRMISH   IN  THE  DARK 

Thoroughly  drenched  and  chilled,  the  two  adven- 
turers returned  to  their  position  in  the  gorse. 

"I  pray  Heaven  that  Capper  make  good  speed! "  said 
Dick.  'M  vow  a  candle  to  St.  Mary  of  Shoreby  if  he 
come  before  the  hour!  " 

**  Y'  are  in  a  hurry,  Master  Dick  ?"  asked  Greensheve. 

*'Ay,  good  fellow,"  answered  Dick;  *'for  in  that 
house  lieth  my  lady,  whom  I  love,  and  who  should  these 
be  that  lie  about  her  secretly  by  night  ?  Unfriends,  for 
sure!" 

"Well,"  returned  Greensheve,  "  an  John  come  speed- 
ily, we  shall  give  a  good  account  of  them.  They  are 
not  two  score  at  the  outside  —  I  judge  so  by  the  spac- 
ing of  their  sentries  —  and,  taken  where  they  are,  lying 
so  widely,  one  score  would  scatter  them  like  sparrows. 
And  yet.  Master  Dick,  an  she  be  in  Sir  Daniel's  power 
already,  it  will  little  hurt  that  she  should  change  into 
another's.     Who  should  these  be  ?  " 

*M  do  suspect  the  Lord  of  Shoreby,"  Dick  replied. 
"When  came  they?" 

"They  began  to  come.  Master  Dick,"  said  Green- 
sheve, "  about  the  time  ye  crossed  the  wall.  I  had  not 
lain  there  the  space  of  a  minute  ere  I  marked  the  first  of 
the  knaves  crawling  round  the  corner." 

148 


A  SKIRMISH   IN  THE   DARK 

The  last  light  had  been  already  extinguished  in  the 
little  house  when  they  were  wading  in  the  wash  of  the 
breakers,  and  it  was  impossible  to  predict  at  what  mo- 
ment the  lurking  men  about  the  garden  wall  might 
make  their  onslaught.  Of  two  evils,  Dick  preferred  the 
least.  He  preferred  that  Joanna  should  remain  under 
the  guardianship  of  Sir  Daniel  rather  than  pass  into  the 
clutches  of  Lord  Shoreby;  and  his  mind  was  made  up, 
if  the  house  should  be  assaulted,  to  come  at  once  to  the 
relief  of  the  besieged. 

But  the  time  passed,  and  still  there  was  no  move- 
ment. From  quarter  of  an  hour  to  quarter  of  an  hour 
the  same  signal  passed  about  the  garden  wall,  as  if  the 
leader  desired  to  assure  himself  of  the  vigilance  of  his 
scattered  followers;  but  in  every  other  particular  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  little  house  lay  undisturbed. 

Presently  Dick's  reinforcements  began  to  arrive.  The 
night  was  not  yet  old  before  nearly  a  score  of  men 
crouched  beside  him  in  the  gorse. 

Separating  these  into  two  bodies,  he  took  the  com- 
mand of  the  smaller  himself,  and  entrusted  the  larger 
to  the  leadership  of  Greensheve. 

"Now,  Kit,"  said  he  to  this  last,  "take  me  your  men 
to  the  near  angle  of  the  garden  wall  upon  the  beach. 
Post  them  strongly,  and  wait  till  that  ye  hear  me  falling 
on  upon  the  other  side.  It  is  those  upon  the  sea  front 
that  I  would  fain  make  certain  of,  for  there  will  be  the 
leader.  The  rest  will  run ;  even  let  them.  And  now, 
lads,  let  no  man  draw  an  arrow ;  ye  will  but  hurt  friends. 
Take  to  the  steel,  and  keep  to  the  steel ;  and  if  we  have 
the  uppermost,  I  promise  every  man  of  you  a  gold  noble 
when  I  come  to  mine  estate." 

149 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

Out  of  the  odd  collection  of  broken  men,  thieves,  mur- 
derers, and  ruined  peasantry,  whom  Duckworth  had 
gathered  together  to  serve  the  purposes  of  his  revenge, 
some  of  the  boldest  and  the  most  experienced  in  war 
had  volunteered  to  follow  Richard  Shelton.  The  ser- 
vice of  watching  Sir  Daniel's  movements  in  the  town 
of  Shoreby  had  from  the  first  been  irksome  to  their 
temper,  and  they  had  of  late  begun  to  grumble  loudly 
and  threaten  to  disperse.  The  prospect  of  a  sharp  en- 
counter and  possible  spoils  restored  them  to  good  hu- 
mour, and  they  joyfully  prepared  for  battle. 

Their  long  tabards  thrown  aside,  they  appeared,  some 
in  plain  green  jerkins,  and  some  in  stout  leathern  jacks ; 
under  their  hoods  many  wore  bonnets  strengthened  by 
iron  plates ;  and,  for  offensive  armour,  swords,  daggers, 
a  few  stout  boar-spears,  and  a  dozen  of  bright  bills,  put 
them  in  a  posture  to  engage  even  regular  feudal  troops. 
The  bows,  quivers,  and  tabards  were  concealed  among 
the  gorse,  and  the  two  bands  set  resolutely  forward. 

Dick,  when  he  had  reached  the  other  side  of  the 
house,  posted  his  six  men  in  a  line,  about  twenty  yards 
from  the  garden  wall,  and  took  position  himself  a  few 
paces  in  front.  Then  they  all  shouted  with  one  voice, 
and  closed  upon  the  enemy. 

These,  lying  widely  scattered,  stiff  with  cold,  and 
taken  at  unawares,  sprang  stupidly  to  their  feet,  and 
stood  undecided.  Before  they  had  time  to  get  their 
courage  about  them,  or  even  to  form  an  idea  of  the  num- 
ber and  mettle  of  their  assailants,  a  similar  shout  of  on- 
slaught sounded  in  their  ears  from  the  far  side  of  the 
enclosure.  Thereupon  they  gave  themselves  up  for  lost 
and  ran. 

150 


A  SKIRMISH   IN  THE   DARK 

In  this  way  the  two  small  troops  of  the  men  of  the 
Black  Arrow  closed  upon  the  sea  front  of  the  garden 
wall,  and  took  a  part  of  the  strangers,  as  it  were,  be- 
tween two  fires ;  while  the  whole  of  the  remainder  ran 
for  their  lives  in  different  directions,  and  were  soon 
scattered  in  the  darkness. 

For  all  that,  the  fight  was  but  beginning.  Dick's  out- 
laws, although  they  had  the  advantage  of  the  surprise, 
were  still  considerably  outnumbered  by  the  men  they 
had  surrounded.  The  tide  had  flowed,  in  the  mean- 
while; the  beach  was  narrowed  to  a  strip;  and  on  this 
wet  field,  between  the  surf  and  the  garden  wall,  there 
began,  in  the  darkness,  a  doubtful,  furious,  and  deadly 
contest. 

The  strangers  were  well  armed;  they  fell  in  silence 
upon  their  assailants ;  and  the  affray  became  a  series  of 
single  combats.  Dick,  who  had  come  first  into  the 
mellay,  was  engaged  by  three;  the  first  he  cut  down  at 
the  first  blow,  but  the  other  two  coming  upon  him, 
hotly,  he  was  fain  to  give  ground  before  their  onset. 
One  of  these  two  was  a  huge  fellow,  almost  a  giant  for 
stature,  and  armed  with  a  two-handed  sword,  which 
he  brandished  like  a  switch.  Against  this  opponent, 
with  his  reach  of  arm  and  the  length  and  weight  of  his 
weapon,  Dick  and  his  bill  were  quite  defenceless ;  and 
had  the  other  continued  to  join  vigorously  in  the  at- 
tack, the  lad  must  have  indubitably  fallen.  This  second 
man,  however,  less  in  stature  and  slower  in  his  move- 
ments, paused  for  a  moment  to  peer  about  him  in  the 
darkness,  and  to  give  ear  to  the  sounds  of  the  battle. 

The  giant  still  pursued  his  advantage,  and  still  Dick  fled 
before  him,  spying  for  his  chance.     Then  the  huge  blade 

»5« 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

flashed  and  descended,  and  the  lad,  leaping  on  one  side 
and  running  in,  slashed  sideways  and  upwards  with 
his  bill.  A  roar  of  agony  responded,  and,  before  the 
wounded  man  could  raise  his  formidable  weapon,  Dick, 
twice  repeating  his  blow,  had  brought  him  to  the 
ground. 

The  next  moment  he  was  engaged,  upon  more  equal 
terms,  with  his  second  pursuer.  Here  there  was  no 
great  difference  in  size,  and  though  the  man,  fighting 
with  sword  and  dagger  against  a  bill,  and  being  wary 
and  quick  of  fence,  had  a  certain  superiority  of  arms, 
Dick  more  than  made  it  up  by  his  greater  agility  on 
foot.  Neither  at  first  gained  any  obvious  advantage; 
but  the  older  man  was  still  insensibly  profiting  by  the 
ardour  of  the  younger  to  lead  him  where  he  would ;  and 
presently  Dick  found  that  they  had  crossed  the  whole 
width  of  the  beach,  and  were  now  fighting  above  the 
knees  in  the  spume  and  bubble  of  the  breakers.  Here 
his  own  superior  activity  was  rendered  useless ;  he  found 
himself  more  or  less  at  the  discretion  of  his  foe;  yet  a 
little,  and  he  had  his  back  turned  upon  his  own  men, 
and  saw  that  this  adroit  and  skilful  adversary  was  bent 
upon  drawing  him  farther  and  farther  away. 

Dick  ground  his  teeth.  He  determined  to  decide  the 
combat  instantly ;  and  when  the  wash  of  the  next  wave 
had  ebbed  and  left  them  dry,  he  rushed  in,  caught  a  blow 
upon  his  bill,  and  leaped  right  at  the  throat  of  his  op- 
ponent. The  man  went  down  backwards,  with  Dick 
still  upon  the  top  of  him ;  and  the  next  wave,  speedily 
succeeding  to  the  last,  buried  him  below  a  rush  of  water. 

While  he  was  still  submerged,  Dick  forced  his  dagger 
from  his  grasp,  and  rose  to  his  feet,  victorious. 

152 


A  SKIRMISH   IN  THE  DARK 

"Yield  ye! "  he  said.     *' I  give  you  life." 

**  I  yield  me,"  said  the  other,  getting  to  his  knees. 
**  Ye  fight,  like  a  young  man,  ignorantly  and  foolhard- 
ily ;  but,  by  the  array  of  the  saints,  ye  fight  bravely  I " 

Dick  turned  to  the  beach.  The  combat  was  still  rag- 
ing doubtfully  in  the  night ;  over  the  hoarse  roar  of  the 
breakers  steel  clanged  upon  steel,  and  cries  of  pain  and 
the  shout  of  battle  resounded. 

**  Lead  me  to  your  captain,  youth,"  said  the  conquered 
knight.     *'  It  is  fit  this  butchery  should  cease." 

"Sir,"  replied  Dick,  "so  far  as  these  brave  fellows 
have  a  captain,  the  poor  gentleman  who  here  addresses 
you  is  he." 

"  Call  off  your  dogs,  then,  and  I  will  bid  my  villains 
hold,"  returned  the  other. 

There  was  something  noble  both  in  the  voice  and 
manner  of  his  late  opponent,  and  Dick  instantly  dis- 
missed all  fears  of  treachery. 

"Lay  down  your  arms,  men!"  cried  the  stranger 
knight.     "I  have  yielded  me,  upon  promise  of  life." 

The  tone  of  the  stranger  was  one  of  absolute  com- 
mand, and  almost  instantly  the  din  and  confusion  of  the 
mellay  ceased. 

" Lawless,"  cried  Dick,  "are  ye  safe ? " 

"Ay,"  cried  Lawless,  "safe  and  hearty." 

"Light  me  the  lantern,"  said  Dick. 

"  Is  not  Sir  Daniel  here?"  inquired  the  knight. 

"  Sir  Daniel  ?  "  echoed  Dick.  "  Now,  by  the  rood,  I 
pray  not.     It  would  go  ill  with  me  if  he  were." 

"Ill  y/ith you,  fair  sir?"  inquired  the  other.  "Nay, 
then,  if  ye  be  not  of  Sir  Daniel's  party,  I  profess  I  com- 
prehend no  longer.     Wherefore,  then,  fell  ye  upon  mine 

»53 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

ambush  ?  in  what  quarrel,  my  young  and  very  fiery 
friend  ?  to  what  earthly  purpose  ?  and,  to  make  a  clear 
end  of  questioning,  to  what  good  gentleman  have  I 
surrendered  ?  " 

But  before  Dick  could  answer,  a  voice  spoke  in  the 
darkness  from  close  by.  Dick  could  see  the  speaker's 
black  and  white  badge,  and  the  respectful  salute  which 
he  addressed  to  his  superior. 

"  My  lord,"  said  he,  *'  if  these  gentlemen  be  unfriends 
to  Sir  Daniel,  it  is  pity,  indeed,  we  should  have  been  at 
blows  with  them ;  but  it  were  tenfold  greater  that  either 
they  or  we  should  linger  here.  The  watchers  in  the 
house  —  unless  they  be  all  dead  or  deaf — have  heard 
our  hammering  this  quarter-hour  agone ;  instantly  they 
will  have  signalled  to  the  town ;  and  unless  we  be  the 
livelier  in  our  departure,  we  are  like  to  be  taken,  both 
of  us,  by  a  fresh  foe. " 

**Hawksley  is  in  the  right,"  added  the  lord.  **How 
please  ye,  sii  ?    Whither  shall  we  march  ?  " 

**Nay,  my  lord,"  said  Dick,  **go  where  ye  will  for 
me.  1  do  begin  to  suspect  we  have  some  ground  of 
friendship,  and  if,  indeed,  I  began  our  acquaintance 
somewhat  ruggedly,  I  would  not  churlishly  continue. 
Let  us,  then,  separate,  my  lord,  you  laying  your  right 
hand  in  mine;  and  at  the  hour  and  place  that  ye  shall 
name,  let  us  encounter  and  agree." 

"  Y'  are  too  trustful,  boy,"  said  the  other;  ''but  this 
time  your  trust  is  not  misplaced.  I  will  meet  you  at 
the  point  of  day  at  St.  Bride's  Cross.  Come,  lads, 
follow!" 

The  strangers  disappeared  from  the  scene  with  a  rapid- 
ity that  seemed  suspicious ;  and,  while  the  outlaws  fell 

»54 


A  SKIRMISH   IN   THE   DARK 

to  the  congenial  task  of  rifling  the  dead  bodies,  Dick 
made  once  more  the  circuit  of  the  garden  wall  to  ex- 
amine the  front  of  the  house.  In  a  little  upper  loophole 
of  the  roof  he  beheld  a  light  set;  and  as  it  would  cer- 
tainly be  visible  in  town  from  the  back  windows  of  Sir 
Daniel's  mansion,  he  doubted  not  that  this  was  the  sig- 
nal feared  by  Hawksley,  and  that  ere  long  the  lances  of 
the  Knight  of  Tunstall  would  arrive  upon  the  scene. 

He  put  his  ear  to  the  ground,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  he  heard  a  jarring  and  hollow  noise  from  town- 
ward.  Back  to  the  beach  he  went  hurrying.  But  the 
work  was  already  done;  the  last  body  was  disarmed 
and  stripped  to  the  skin,  and  four  fellows  were  already 
wading  seaward  to  commit  it  to  the  mercies  of  the 
deep. 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  there  debouched  out  of 
the  nearest  lanes  of  Shoreby  some  two  score  horse- 
men, hastily  arrayed  and  moving  at  the  gallop  of  their 
steeds,  the  neighbourhood  of  the  house  beside  the  sea 
was  entirely  silent  and  deserted. 

Meanwhile,  Dick  and  his  men  had  returned  to  the  ale- 
house of  the  Goat  and  Bagpipes  to  snatch  some  hours 
of  sleep  before  the  morning  tryst. 


55 


CHAPTER  III 
ST.  bride's  cross 

St.  Bride's  Cross  stood  a  little  way  back  from  Shoreby, 
on  the  skirts  of  Tunstall  Forest.  Two  roads  met :  one, 
from  Holy  wood  across  the  forest;  one,  that  road  from 
Risingham  down  which  we  saw  the  wrecks  of  a  Lan- 
castrian army  fleeing  in  disorder.  Here  the  two  joined 
issue,  and  went  on  together  down  the  hill  to  Shoreby ; 
and  a  little  back  from  the  point  of  junction,  the  summit 
of  a  little  knoll  was  crowned  by  the  ancient  and  weather- 
beaten  cross. 

Here,  then,  about  seven  in  the  morning,  Dick  arrived. 
It  was  as  cold  as  ever ;  the  earth  was  all  grey  and  silver 
with  the  hoar-frost,  and  the  day  began  to  break  in  the 
east  with  many  colours  of  purple  and  orange. 

Dick  set  him  down  upon  the  lowest  step  of  the  cross, 
wrapped  himself  well  in  his  tabard,  and  looked  vigi- 
lantly upon  all  sides.  He  had  not  long  to  wait.  Down 
the  road  from  Holywood  a  gentleman  in  very  rich  and 
bright  armour,  and  wearing  over  that  a  surcoat  of  the 
rarest  furs,  came  pacing  on  a  splendid  charger.  Twenty 
yards  behind  him  followed  a  clump  of  lances ;  but  these 
halted  as  soon  as  they  came  in  view  of  the  trysting- 
place,  while  the  gentleman  in  the  fur  surcoat  continued 
to  advance  alone. 

156 


ST.  BRIDE'S  CROSS 

His  visor  was  raised,  and  showed  a  countenance  of 
great  command  and  dignity,  answerable  to  the  richness 
of  his  attire  and  arms.  And  it  was  with  some  con- 
fusion of  manner  that  Dick  arose  from  the  cross  and 
stepped  down  the  bank  to  meet  his  prisoner. 

**  I  thank  you,  my  lord,  for  your  exactitude,"  he  said, 
louting  very  low.  *'  Will  it  please  your  lordship  to  set 
foot  to  earth  ?  " 

'*  Are  ye  here  alone,  young  man  ?  "  inquired  the  other. 

"  I  was  not  so  simple,"  answered  Dick;  **  and,  to  be 
plain  with  your  lordship,  the  woods  upon  either  hand 
of  this  cross  lie  full  of  mine  honest  fellows  lying  on  their 
weapons." 

"  Y'  'ave  done  wisely,"  said  the  lord.  *Mt  pleaseth 
me  the  rather,  since  last  night  ye  fought  foolhardily, 
and  more  like  a  salvage  Saracen  lunatic  than  any  Chris- 
tian warrior.  But  it  becomes  not  me  to  complain  that 
had  the  undermost." 

**  Ye  had  the  undermost  indeed,  my  lord,  since  ye  so 
fell,"  returned  Dick;  "but  had  the  waves  not  holpen 
me,  it  was  I  that  should  have  had  the  worst.  Ye  were 
pleased  to  make  me  yours  with  several  dagger  marks, 
which  I  still  carry.  And  in  fine,  my  lord,  methinks  I 
had  all  the  danger,  as  well  as  all  the  profit,  of  that  little 
blind-man's  mellay  on  the  beach." 

**  Y'  are  shrewd  enough  to  make  light  of  it,  I  see," 
returned  the  stranger. 

"Nay,  my  lord,  not  shrewd,"  replied  Dick,  "in  that 
I  shoot  at  no  advantage  to  myself.  But  when,  by  the 
light  of  this  new  day,  I  see  how  stout  a  knight  hath 
yielded,  not  to  my  arms  alone,  but  to  fortune,  and  the 
darkness,  and  the  surf —  and  how  easily  the  battle  had 

»57 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

gone  otherwise,  with  a  soldier  so  untried  and  rustic  as 
myself — think  it  not  strange,  my  lord,  if  I  feel  con- 
founded with  my  victory." 

* '  Ye  speak  well, ' '  said  the  stranger.    ' '  Your  name  ?  " 

*'My  name,  an't  like  you,  is  Shelton,"  answered 
Dick. 

"  Men  call  me  the  Lord  Foxham,"  added  the  other. 

"  Then,  my  lord,  and  under  your  good  favour,  ye  are 
guardian  to  the  sweetest  maid  in  England,"  replied 
Dick;  "and  for  your  ransom,  and  the  ransom  of  such 
as  were  taken  with  you  on  the  beach,  there  will  be  no 
uncertainty  of  terms.  I  pray  you,  my  lord,  of  your 
goodwill  and  charity,  yield  me  the  hand  of  my  mistress, 
Joan  Sedley;  and  take  ye,  upon  the  other  part,  your 
liberty,  the  liberty  of  these  your  followers,  and  (if  ye 
will  have  it)  my  gratitude  and  service  till  1  die." 

''  But  are  ye  not  ward  to  Sir  Daniel  ?  Methought,  if 
y'  are  Harry  Shelton's  son,  that  I  had  heard  it  so  re- 
ported," said  Lord  Foxham. 

''  Will  it  please  you,  my  lord,  to  alight  ?  I  would  fain 
tell  you  fully  who  I  am,  how  situate,  and  why  so  bold 
in  my  demands.  Beseech  you,  my  lord,  take  place  upon 
these  steps,  hear  me  to  a  full  end,  and  judge  me  with 
allowance." 

And  so  saying,  Dick  lent  a  hand  to  Lord  Foxham  to 
dismount;  led  him  up  the  knoll  to  the  cross;  installed 
him  in  the  place  where  he  had  himself  been  sitting;  and 
standing  respectfully  before  his  noble  prisoner,  related 
the  story  of  his  fortunes  up  to  the  events  of  the  evening 
before. 

Lord  Foxham  listened  gravely,  and  when  Dick  had 
done,  *' Master  Shelton,"  he  said,  ''ye  are  a  most  for- 

158 


ST.  BRIDE'S  CROSS 

tunate-unfortunate  young  gentleman ;  but  what  fortune 
y'  'ave  had,  that  ye  have  amply  merited;  and  what  un- 
fortune,  ye  have  noways  deserved.  Be  of  a  good  cheer; 
for  ye  have  made  a  friend  who  is  devoid  neither  of  power 
nor  favour.  For  yourself,  although  it  fits  not  for  a  person 
of  your  birth  to  herd  with  outlaws,  I  must  own  ye  are 
both  brave  and  honourable;  very  dangerous  in  battle, 
right  courteous  in  peace;  a  youth  of  excellent  disposi- 
tion and  brave  bearing.  For  your  estates,  ye  will  never 
see  them  till  the  world  shall  change  again ;  so  long  as 
Lancaster  hath  the  strong  hand,  so  long  shall  Sir  Daniel 
enjoy  them  for  his  own.  For  my  ward,  it  is  another 
matter;  I  had  promised  her  before  to  a  gentleman,  a 
kinsman  of  my  house,  one  Hamley;  the  promise  is 
old " 

**Ay,  my  lord,  and  now  Sir  Daniel  hath  promised 
her  to  my  Lord  Shoreby,"  interrupted  Dick.  *'  And  his 
promise,  for  all  it  is  but  young,  is  still  the  likelier  to  be 
made  good." 

"  Tis  the  plain  truth," returned  his  lordship.  "And 
considering,  moreover,  that  I  am  your  prisoner,  upon 
no  better  composition  than  my  bare  life,  and  over  and 
above  that,  that  the  maiden  is  unhappily  in  other  hands, 
I  will  so  far  consent.  Aid  me  with  your  good  fel- 
lows " 

'*My  lord,"  cried  Dick,  ''they  are  these  same  out- 
laws that  ye  blame  me  for  consorting  with." 

**  Let  them  be  what  they  will,  they  can  fight,"  re- 
turned Lord  Foxham.  "  Help  me,  then;  and  if  between 
us  we  regain  the  maid,  upon  my  knightly  honour,  she 
shall  marry  you! " 

Dick  bent  his  knee  before  his  prisoner;  but  he,  leap- 

'59 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 


ing  Up  lightly  from  the  cross,  caught  the  lad  up  and 
embraced  him  like  a  son. 

**  Come,"  he  said,  "  an  y'  are  to  marry  Joan,  we  must 
be  early  friends." 


too 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  GOOD  HOPE 

An  hour  thereafter,  Dick  was  back  at  the  Goat  and 
Bagpipes,  breaking  his  fast,  and  receiving  the  report  of 
his  messengers  and  sentries.  Duckworth  was  still  ab- 
sent from  Shoreby;  and  this  was  frequently  the  case, 
for  he  played  many  parts  in  the  world,  shared  many 
different  interests,  and  conducted  many  various  affairs. 
He  had  founded  that  fellowship  of  the  Black  Arrow,  as 
a  ruined  man  longing  for  vengeance  and  money;  and 
yet  among  those  who  knew  him  best,  he  was  thought 
to  be  the  agent  and  emissary  of  the  great  King-maker 
of  England,  Richard,  Earl  of  Warwick. 

In  his  absence,  at  any  rate,  it  fell  upon  Richard  Shel- 
ton  to  command  affairs  in  Shoreby;  and,  as  he  sat  at 
meat,  his  mind  was  full  of  care,  and  his  face  heavy  with 
consideration.  It  had  been  determined,  between  him 
and  the  Lord  Foxham,  to  make  one  bold  stroke  that 
evening,  and,  by  brute  force,  to  set  Joanna  free.  The 
obstacles,  however,  were  many;  and  as  one  after  an- 
other of  his  scouts  arrived,  each  brought  him  more  dis- 
comfortable  news. 

Sir  Daniel  was  alarmed  by  the  skirmish  of  the  night 
before.  He  had  increased  the  garrison  of  the  house  in 
the  garden ;  but  not  content  with  that,  he  had  stationed 

l6i 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

horsemen  in  all  the  neighbouring  lanes,  so  that  he 
might  have  instant  word  of  any  movement.  Mean- 
while, in  the  court  of  his  mansion,  steeds  stood  saddled, 
and  the  riders,  armed  at  every  point,  awaited  but  the 
signal  to  ride. 

The  adventure  of  the  night  appeared  more  and  more 
difficult  of  execution,  till  suddenly  Dick's  countenance 
lightened. 

"Lawless!"  he  cried,  ''you  that  were  a  shipman, 
can  ye  steal  me  a  ship  ?  " 

"Master  Dick,"  replied  Lawless,  "if  ye  would  back 
me,  I  would  agree  to  steal  York  Minster." 

Presently  after,  these  two  set  forth  and  descended  to 
the  harbour.  It  was  a  considerable  basin,  lying  among 
sand  hills,  and  surrounded  with  patches  of  down,  an- 
cient ruinous  lumber,  and  tumble-down  slums  of  the 
town.  Many  decked  ships  and  many  open  boats  either 
lay  there  at  anchor,  or  had  been  drawn  up  on  the  beach. 
A  long  duration  of  bad  weather  had  driven  them  from 
the  high  seas  into  the  shelter  of  the  port;  and  the  great 
trooping  of  black  clouds,  and  the  cold  squalls  that  fol- 
lowed one  another,  now  with  a  sprinkling  of  dry  snow, 
now  in  a  mere  swoop  of  wind,  promised  no  improve- 
ment but  rather  threatened  a  more  serious  storm  in  the 
immediate  future. 

The  seamen,  in  view  of  the  cold  and  the  wind,  had 
for  the  most  part  slunk  ashore,  and  were  now  roaring 
and  singing  in  the  shoreside  taverns.  Many  of  the 
ships  already  rode  unguarded  at  their  anchors ;  and  as 
the  day  wore  on,  and  the  weather  offered  no  appear- 
ance of  improvement,  the  number  was  continually  being 
augmented.     It  was  to  these  deserted  ships,  and,  above 

162 


THE  GOOD   HOPE 

all,  to  those  of  them  that  lay  far  out,  that  Lawless  di- 
rected his  attention;  while  Dick,  seated  upon  an  anchor 
that  was  half  embedded  in  the  sand,  and  giving  ear, 
now  to  the  rude,  potent,  and  boding  voices  of  the  gale, 
and  now  to  the  hoarse  singing  of  the  shipmen  in  a 
neighbouring  tavern,  soon  forgot  his  immediate  sur- 
roundings and  concerns  in  the  agreeable  recollection  of 
Lord  Foxham's  promise. 

He  was  disturbed  by  a  touch  upon  his  shoulder.  It 
was  Lawless,  pointing  to  a  small  ship  that  lay  some- 
what by  itself,  and  within  but  a  little  of  the  harbour 
mouth,  where  it  heaved  regularly  and  smoothly  on  the 
entering  swell.  A  pale  gleam  of  winter  sunshine  fell, 
at  that  moment,  on  the  vessel's  deck,  relieving  her 
against  a  bank  of  scowling  cloud;  and  in  this  momen- 
tary glitter  Dick  could  see  a  couple  of  men  hauling  the 
skiff  alongside. 

*  *  There,  sir, "  said  Lawless,  '  *  mark  ye  it  well !  There 
is  the  ship  for  to-night." 

Presently  the  skiff  put  out  from  the  vessel's  side,  and 
the  two  men,  keeping  her  head  well  to  the  wind,  pulled 
lustily  for  shore.     Lawless  turned  to  a  loiterer. 

*'How  call  ye  her?"  he  asked,  pointing  to  the  little 
vessel. 

"They  call  her  the  Good  Hope,  of  Dartmouth,"  re- 
plied the  loiterer.  "Her  captain,  Arblaster  by  name. 
He  pulleth  the  bow  oar  in  yon  skiff." 

This  was  all  that  Lawless  wanted.  Hurriedly  thank- 
ing the  man,  he  moved  round  the  shore  to  a  certain 
sandy  creek,  for  which  the  skiff  was  heading.  There  he 
took  up  his  position,  and  as  soon  as  they  were  within 
earshot,  opened  fire  on  the  sailors  of  the  Good  Hope. 

163 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

'*What!  Gossip  Arblaster!"  he  cried.  **Why,  ye  be 
well  met;  nay,  gossip,  ye  be  right  well  met,  upon  the 
rood !  And  is  that  the  Good  Hope  ?  Ay,  1  would  know 
her  among  ten  thousand !  —  a  sweet  shear,  a  sweet  boat ! 
But  marry  come  up,  my  gossip,  will  ye  drink  ?  I  have 
come  into  mine  estate  which  doubtless  ye  remember  to 
have  heard  on.  I  am  now  rich ;  I  have  left  to  sail  upon 
the  sea;  I  do  sail  now,  for  the  most  part,  upon  spiced 
ale.  Come,  fellow;  thy  hand  upon  't!  Come,  drink 
with  an  old  shipfellow !  " 

Skipper  Arblaster,  a  long-faced,  elderly,  weather- 
beaten  man,  with  a  knife  hanging  about  his  neck  by  a 
plaited  cord,  and  for  all  the  world  like  any  modern  sea- 
man in  his  gait  and  bearing,  had  hung  back  in  obvious 
amazement  and  distrust.  But  the  name  of  an  estate, 
and  a  certain  air  of  tipsified  simplicity  and  good-fellow- 
ship which  Lawless  very  well  affected,  combined  to 
conquer  his  suspicious  jealousy;  his  countenance  re- 
laxed, and  he  at  once  extended  his  open  hand  and 
squeezed  that  of  the  outlaw  in  a  formidable  grasp. 

"Nay,"  he  said,  "I  cannot  mind  you.  But  what  o' 
that?  I  would  drink  with  any  man,  gossip,  and  so 
would  my  man  Tom.  Man  Tom,"  he  added,  address- 
ing his  follower,  *'here  is  my  gossip,  whose  name  I 
cannot  mind,  but  no  doubt  a  very  good  seaman.  Let's 
go  drink  with  him  and  his  shore  friend." 

Lawless  led  the  way,  and  they  were  soon  seated  in 
an  alehouse,  which,  as  it  was  very  new,  and  stood  in  an 
exposed  and  solitary  station,  was  less  crowded  than 
those  nearer  to  the  centre  of  the  port.  It  was  but  a 
shed  of  timber,  much  like  a  blockhouse  in  the  back- 
woods of  to-day,  and  was  coarsely  furnished  with  a 

164 


THE  GOOD   HOPE 

press  or  two,  a  number  of  naked  benches,  and  boards 
set  upon  barrels  to  play  the  part  of  tables.  In  the  mid- 
dle, and  besieged  by  half  a  hundred  violent  draughts, 
a  fire  of  wreck-wood  blazed  and  vomited  thick  smoke. 

"Ay,  now,"  said  Lawless,  "here  is  a  shipman's  joy 
—  a  good  fire  and  a  good  stiff  cup  ashore,  with  foul 
weather  without  and  an  off-sea  gale  a-snoring  in  the 
roof!    Here's  to  the  Good  Hope!    May  she  ride  easy!" 

"Ay,"  said  Skipper  Arblaster,  "'tis  good  weather  to 
be  ashore  in,  that  is  sooth.  Man  Tom,  how  say  ye  to 
that?  Gossip,  ye  speak  well,  though  I  can  never  think 
upon  your  name ;  but  ye  speak  very  well.  May  the  Good 
Hope  ride  easy!     Amen!" 

"Friend  Dickon,"  resumed  Lawless,  addressing  his 
commander,  "ye  have  certain  matters  on  hand,  unless 
I  err  ?  Well,  prithee  be  about  them  incontinently.  For 
here  I  be  with  the  choice  of  all  good  company,  two 
tough  old  shipmen;  and  till  that  ye  return  I  will  go 
warrant  these  brave  fellows  will  bide  here  and  drink  me 
cup  for  cup.  We  are  not  like  shore-men,  we  old,  tough 
tarry-Johns! " 

"It  is  well  meant,"  returned  the  skipper.  "Ye  can 
go,  boy ;  for  I  will  keep  your  good  friend  and  my  good 
gossip  company  till  curfew  —  ay,  and  by  St.  Mary,  till 
the  sun  get  up  again !  For,  look  ye,  when  a  man  hath 
been  long  enough  at  sea,  the  salt  getteth  me  into  the 
clay  upon  his  bones ;  and  let  him  drink  a  draw-well,  he 
will  never  be  quenched." 

Thus  encouraged  upon  all  hands,  Dick  rose,  saluted 
his  company,  and  going  forth  again  into  the  gusty  after- 
noon, got  him  as  speedily  as  he  might  to  the  Goat  and 
Bagpipes.     Thence  he  sent  word  to  my  Lord  Foxham 

165 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

that,  SO  soon  as  ever  the  evening  closed,  they  would 
have  a  stout  boat  to  keep  the  sea  in.  And  then  leading 
along  with  him  a  couple  of  outlaws  who  had  some  ex- 
perience of  the  sea,  he  returned  himself  to  the  harbour 
and  the  little  sandy  creek. 

The  skiff  of  the  Good  Hope  lay  among  many  others, 
from  which  it  was  easily  distinguished  by  its  extreme 
smallness  and  fragility.  Indeed,  when  Dick  and  his 
two  men  had  taken  their  places,  and  begun  to  put  forth 
out  of  the  creek  into  the  open  harbour,  the  little  cockle 
dipped  into  the  swell  and  staggered  under  every  gust 
of  wind,  like  a  thing  upon  the  point  of  sinking. 

The  Good  Hope,  as  we  have  said,  was  anchored  fai 
out,  where  the  swell  was  heaviest.  No  other  vessel  lay 
nearer  than  several  cables'  length ;  those  that  were  the 
nearest  were  themselves  entirely  deserted;  and  as  the 
skiff  approached,  a  thick  flurry  of  snow  and  a  sudden 
darkening  of  the  weather  further  concealed  the  move- 
ments of  the  outlaws  from  all  possible  espial.  In  a 
trice  they  had  leaped  upon  the  heaving  deck,  and  the 
skiff  was  dancing  at  the  stern.  The  Good  Hope  was 
captured. 

She  was  a  good  stout  boat,  decked  in  the  bows  and 
amidships,  but  open  in  the  stern.  She  carried  one  mast, 
and  was  rigged  between  a  felucca  and  a  lugger.  It 
would  seem  that  Skipper  Arblaster  had  made  an  excel- 
lent venture,  for  the  hold  was  full  of  pieces  of  French 
wine;  and  in  the  little  cabin,  besides  the  Virgin  Mary 
in  the  bulkhead  which  proved  the  captain's  piety,  there 
were  many  lockfast  chests  and  cupboards,  which  showed 
him  to  be  rich  and  careful. 

A  dog,  who  was  the  sole  occupant  of  the  vessel,  furi- 
i66 


THE  GOOD  HOPE 

ously  barked  and  bit  the  heels  of  the  boarders ;  but  he 
was  soon  kicked  into  the  cabin,  and  the  door  shut  upon 
his  just  resentment.  A  lamp  was  lit  and  fixed  in  the 
shrouds  to  mark  the  vessel  clearly  from  the  shore;  one 
of  the  wine  pieces  in  the  hold  was  broached,  and  a  cup 
of  excellent  Gascony  emptied  to  the  adventure  of  the 
evening;  and  then,  while  one  of  the  outlaws  began  to 
get  ready  his  bow  and  arrows  and  prepare  to  hold  the 
ship  against  all  comers,  the  other  hauled  in  the  skiff  and 
got  overboard,  where  he  held  on,  waiting  for  Dick. 

"Well,  Jack,  keep  me  a  good  watch,"  said  the  young 
commander,  preparing  to  follow  his  subordinate.  "  Ye 
will  do  right  well." 

"  Why,"  returned  Jack,  "  I  shall  do  excellent  well  in- 
deed, so  long  as  we  lie  here;  but  once  we  put  the  nose 

of  this  poor  ship  outside  the  harbour See,  there 

she  trembles  1  Nay,  the  poor  shrew  heard  the  words, 
and  the  heart  misgave  her  in  her  oak-tree  ribs.  But 
look,  Master  Dick!  how  black  the  weather  gathers !  " 

The  darkness  ahead  was,  indeed,  astonishing.  Great 
billows  heaved  up  out  of  the  blackness,  one  after  an- 
other; and  one  after  another  the  Good  Hope  buoyantly 
climbed,  and  giddily  plunged  upon  the  further  side.  A 
thin  sprinkle  of  snow  and  thin  flakes  of  foam  came  fly- 
ing, and  powdered  the  deck;  and  the  wind  harped  dis- 
mally among  the  rigging. 

"In  sooth,  it  looketh  evilly,"  said  Dick.  "  But  what 
cheer!  Tis  but  a  squall,  and  presently  it  will  blow 
over."  But,  in  spite  of  his  words,  he  was  depressingly 
affected  by  the  bleak  disorder  of  the  sky  and  the  wailing 
and  fluting  of  the  wind;  and  as  he  got  over  the  side  of 
the  Good  Hope  and  made  once  more  for  the  landing* 

167 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

creek  with  the  best  speed  of  oars,  he  crossed  himself 
devoutly,  and  recommended  to  Heaven  the  lives  of  all 
who  should  adventure  on  the  sea. 

At  the  landing-creek  there  had  already  gathered  about 
a  dozen  of  the  outlaws.  To  these  the  skiff  was  left,  and 
they  were  bidden  embark  without  delay. 

A  little  further  up  the  beach  Dick  found  Lord  Foxham 
hurrying  in  quest  of  him,  his  face  concealed  with  a  dark 
hood,  and  his  bright  armour  covered  by  a  long  russet 
mantle  of  a  poor  appearance. 

''Young  Shelton,"  he  said,  '*are  ye  for  sea,  then, 
truly  ?  " 

*'My  lord,"  replied  Richard,  ''they  lie  about  the 
house  with  horsemen ;  it  may  not  be  reached  from  the 
land  side  without  alarum ;  and  Sir  Daniel  once  advertised 
of  our  adventure,  we  can  no  more  carry  it  to  a  good  end 
than,  saving  your  presence,  we  could  ride  upon  the 
wind.  Now,  in  going  round  by  sea,  we  do  run  some 
peril  by  the  elements;  but,  what  much  outweighteth 
all,  we  have  a  chance  to  make  good  our  purpose  and 
bear  off  the  maid." 

"Well,"  returned  Lord  Foxham,  "lead  on.  I  will, 
in  some  sort,  follow  you  for  shame's  sake ;  but  I  own  I 
would  I  were  in  bed." 

"Here,  then,"  said  Dick.  "Hither  we  go  to  fetch 
our  pilot." 

And  he  led  the  way  to  the  rude  alehouse  where  he 
had  given  rendezvous  to  a  portion  of  his  men.  Some 
of  these  he  found  lingering  round  the  door  outside; 
others  had  pushed  more  boldly  in,  and,  choosing  places 
as  near  as  possible  to  where  they  saw  their  comrade, 
gathered  close  about  Lawless  and  the  two  shipmen. 

i68 


THE  GOOD   HOPE 

These,  to  judge  by  the  distempered  countenance  and 
cloudy  eye,  had  long  since  gone  beyond  the  boundaries 
of  moderation;  and  as  Richard  entered,  closely  followed 
by  Lord  Foxham,  they  were  all  three  tuning  up  an  old, 
pitiful  sea-ditty,  to  the  chorus  of  the  wailing  of  the  gale. 

The  young  leader  cast  a  rapid  glance  about  the  shed. 
The  fire  had  just  been  replenished,  and  gave  forth  vol- 
umes of  black  smoke,  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  see 
clearly  in  the  further  corners.  It  was  plain,  however, 
that  the  outlaws  very  largely  outnumbered  the  remainder 
of  the  guests.  Satisfied  upon  this  point,  in  case  of  any 
failure  in  the  operation  of  his  plan,  Dick  strode  up  to 
the  table  and  resumed  his  place  upon  the  bench. 

"Hey?"  cried  the  skipper,  tipsily,  **who  are  ye, 
hey?" 

"  I  want  a  word  with  you  without,  Master  Arblaster," 
returned  Dick;  "and  here  is  what  we  shall  talk  of." 
And  he  showed  him  a  gold  noble  in  the  glimmer  of  the 
firelight. 

The  shipman's  eyes  burned,  although  he  still  failed  to 
recognise  our  hero. 

"Ay,  boy,"  he  said,  "I  am  with  you.  Gossip,  I  will 
be  back  anon.  Drink  fair,  gossip ; "  and,  taking  Dick's 
arm  to  steady  his  uneven  steps,  he  walked  to  the  door 
of  the  alehouse. 

As  soon  as  he  was  over  the  threshold,  ten  strong  arms 
had  seized  and  bound  him ;  and  in  two  minutes  more, 
with  his  limbs  trussed  one  to  another,  and  a  good  gag 
in  his  mouth,  he  had  been  tumbled  neck  and  crop  into  a 
neighbouring  hay-barn.  Presently,  his  man  Tom,  simi- 
larly secured,  was  tossed  beside  him,  and  the  pair  were 
left  to  their  uncouth  reflections  for  the  night. 

169 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

And  now,  as  the  time  for  concealment  had  gone  by, 
Lord  Foxham's  followers  were  summoned  by  a  precon- 
certed signal,  and  the  party,  boldly  taking  possession 
of  as  many  boats  as  their  numbers  required,  pulled  in  a 
flotilla  for  the  light  in  the  rigging  of  the  ship.  Long  be- 
fore the  last  man  had  climbed  to  the  deck  of  the  Good 
Hope,  the  sound  of  furious  shouting  from  the  shore 
showed  that  a  part,  at  least,  of  the  seamen  had  discov- 
ered the  loss  of  their  skiffs. 

But  it  was  now  too  late,  whether  for  recovery  or  re- 
venge. Out  of  some  forty  fighting  men  now  mustered 
in  the  stolen  ship,  eight  had  been  to  sea,  and  could  play 
the  part  of  mariners.  With  the  aid  of  these,  a  slice  of 
sail  was  got  upon  her.  The  cable  was  cut.  Lawless, 
vacillating  on  his  feet,  and  still  shouting  the  chorus  of 
sea-ballads,  took  the  long  tiller  in  his  hands :  and  the 
Good  Hope  began  to  flit  forward  into  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  and  to  face  the  great  waves  beyond  the  harbour 
bar. 

Richard  took  his  place  beside  the  weather  rigging. 
Except  for  the  ship's  own  lantern,  and  for  some  lights 
in  Shoreby  town,  that  were  already  fading  to  leeward, 
the  whole  world  of  air  was  as  black  as  in  a  pit.  Only 
from  time  to  time,  as  the  Good  Hope  swooped  dizzily 
down  into  the  valley  of  the  rollers,  a  crest  would  break 
—  a  great  cataract  of  snowy  foam  would  leap  in  one  in- 
stant into  being — and,  in  an  instant  more,  would  stream 
into  the  wake  and  vanish. 

Many  of  the  men  lay  holding  on  and  praying  aloud; 
many  more  were  sick,  and  had  crept  into  the  bottom, 
where  they  sprawled  among  the  cargo.  And  what  with 
the  extreme  violence  of  the  motion,  and  the  continued 

170 


THE  GOOD   HOPE 

drunken  bravado  of  Lawless,  still  shouting  and  singing 
at  the  helm,  the  stoutest  heart  on  board  may  have 
nourished  a  shrewd  misgiving  as  to  the  result. 

But  Lawless,  as  if  guided  by  an  instinct,  steered  the 
ship  across  the  breakers,  struck  the  lee  of  a  great  sand- 
bank, where  they  sailed  for  awhile  in  smooth  water, 
and  presently  after  laid  her  alongside  a  rude,  stone  pier, 
where  she  was  hastily  made  fast,  and  lay  ducking  and 
grinding  in  the  dark. 


tlFI 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  GOOD   HOPE 
{continued) 

The  pier  svas  not  far  distant  from  the  house  in  which 
Joanna  lay;  it  now  only  remained  to  get  the  men  on 
shore,  to  surround  the  house  with  a  strong  party,  burst 
in  the  door  and  carry  off  the  captive.  They  might  then 
regard  themselves  as  done  with  the  Good  Hope ;  it  had 
placed  them  on  the  rear  of  their  enemies ;  and  the  re- 
treat, whether  they  should  succeed  or  fail  in  the  main 
enterprise,  would  be  directed  with  a  greater  measure 
of  hope  in  the  direction  of  the  forest  and  my  Lord  Fox- 
ham's  reserve. 

To  get  the  men  on  shore,  however,  was  no  easy  task; 
many  had  been  sick,  all  were  pierced  with  cold;  the 
promiscuity  and  disorder  on  board  had  shaken  their 
discipline;  the  movement  of  the  ship  and  the  darkness 
of  the  night  had  cowed  their  spirits.  They  made  a 
rush  upon  the  pier;  my  lord,  with  his  sword  drawn 
on  his  own  retainers,  must  throw  himself  in  front ;  and 
this  impulse  of  rabblement  was  not  restrained  without 
a  certain  clamour  of  voices,  highly  to  be  regretted  in  the 
case. 

When  some  degree  of  order  had  been  restored,  Dick, 
with  a  few  chosen  men,  set  forth  in  advance.  The 
darkness  on  shore,  by  contrast  with  the  flashing  of  the 

17a 


THE  GOOD   HOPE 

surf,  appeared  before  him  like  a  solid  body;  and  the 
howling  and  whistling  of  the  gale  drowned  any  lesser 
noise. 

He  had  scarce  reached  the  end  of  the  pier,  however, 
when  there  fell  a  lull  of  the  wind ;  and  in  this  he  seemed 
to  hear  on  shore  the  hollow  footing  of  horses  and  the 
clash  of  arms.  Checking  his  immediate  followers,  he 
passed  forward  a  step  or  two  alone,  even  setting  foot 
upon  the  down ;  and  here  he  made  sure  he  could  detect 
the  shape  of  men  and  horses  moving.  A  strong  dis- 
couragement assailed  him.  If  their  enemies  were  really 
on  the  watch,  if  they  had  beleaguered  the  shoreward 
end  of  the  pier,  he  and  Lord  Foxham  were  taken  in  a 
posture  of  very  poor  defence,  the  sea  behind,  the  men 
jostled  in  the  dark  upon  a  narrow  causeway.  He  gave 
a  cautious  whistle,  the  signal  previously  agreed  upon. 

It  proved  to  be  a  signal  far  more  than  he  desired.  In- 
stantly there  fell,  through  the  black  night,  a  shower  of 
arrows  sent  at  a  venture;  and  so  close  were  the  men 
huddled  on  the  pier  that  more  than  one  was  hit,  and 
the  arrows  were  answered  with  cries  of  both  fear  and 
pain.  In  this  first  discharge,  Lord  Foxham  was  struck 
down;  Hawksley  had  him  carried  on  board  again  at 
once;  and  his  men,  during  the  brief  remainder  of  the 
skirmish,  fought  (when  they  fought  at  all)  without 
guidance.  That  was  perhaps  the  chief  cause  of  the 
disaster  which  made  haste  to  follow. 

At  the  shore  end  of  the  pier,  for  perhaps  a  minute,  Dick 
held  his  own  with  a  handful ;  one  or  two  were  wounded 
upon  either  side;  steel  crossed  steel ;  nor  had  there  been 
the  least  signal  of  advantage,  when  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye  the  tide  turned  against  the  party  from  the  ship. 

173 


THE   BLACK   ARROW 

Someone  cried  out  that  all  was  lost;  the  men  were  in 
the  very  humour  to  lend  an  ear  to  a  discomfortable 
counsel;  the  cry  was  taken  up.  "On  board,  lads,  for 
your  lives ! "  cried  another.  A  third,  with  the  true  in- 
stinct of  the  coward,  raised  that  inevitable  report  on  all 
retreats:  *'We  are  betrayed!"  And  in  a  moment  the 
whole  mass  of  men  went  surging  and  jostling  backward 
down  the  pier,  turning  their  defenceless  backs  on  their 
pursuers  and  piercing  the  night  with  craven  outcry. 

One  coward  thrust  off  the  ship's  stern,  while  another 
still  held  her  by  the  bows.  The  fugitives  leaped, 
screaming,  and  were  hauled  on  board,  or  fell  back  and 
perished  in  the  sea.  Some  were  cut  down  upon  the 
pier  by  the  pursuers.  Many  were  injured  on  the  ship's 
deck  in  the  blind  haste  and  terror  of  the  moment,  one 
man  leaping  upon  another,  and  a  third  on  both.  At 
last,  and  whether  by  design  or  accident,  the  bows  of 
the  Good  Hope  were  liberated;  and  the  ever-ready 
Lawless,  who  had  maintained  his  place  at  the  helm 
through  all  the  hurly-burly  by  sheer  strength  of  body 
and  a  liberal  use  of  the  cold  steel,  instantly  clapped  her 
on  the  proper  tack.  The  ship  began  to  move  once 
more  forward  on  the  stormy  sea,  its  scuppers  running 
blood,  its  deck  heaped  with  fallen  men,  sprawling  and 
struggling  in  the  dark. 

Thereupon,  Lawless  sheathed  his  dagger,  and  turning 
to  his  next  neighbour,  ''I  have  left  my  mark  on  them, 
gossip,"  said  he,  "the  yelping,  coward  hounds." 

Now,  while  they  were  all  leaping  and  struggling  for 
their  lives,  the  men  had  not  appeared  to  observe  the 
rough  shoves  and  cutting  stabs  with  which  Lawless 
had  held  his  post  in  the  confusion.     But  perhaps  they 

»74 


THE   GOOD   HOPE 

had  already  begun  to  understand  somewhat  more  clearly, 
or  perhaps  another  ear  had  overheard,  the  helmsman's 
speech. 

Panic-stricken  troops  recover  slowly,  and  men  who 
have  just  disgraced  themselves  by  cowardice,  as  if  to 
wipe  out  the  memory  of  their  fault,  will  sometimes  run 
straight  into  the  opposite  extreme  of  insubordination. 
So  it  was  now;  and  the  same  men  who  had  thrown 
away  their  weapons  and  been  hauled,  feet  foremost, 
into  the  Good  Hope,  began  to  cry  out  upon  their  leaders, 
and  demand  that  someone  should  be  punished. 

This  growing  ill-feeling  turned  upon  Lawless. 

In  order  to  get  a  proper  offing,  the  old  outlaw  had 
put  the  head  of  the  Good  Hope  to  seaward. 

"  What!  "  bawled  one  of  the  grumblers,  "  he  carrieth 
us  to  seaward !  " 

**  Tis  sooth,"  cried  another.  **Nay,  we  are  betrayed 
for  sure." 

And  they  all  began  to  cry  out  in  chorus  that  they  were 
betrayed,  and  in  shrill  tones  and  with  abominable  oaths 
bade  Lawless  go  about-ship  and  bring  them  speedily 
ashore.  Lawless,  grinding  his  teeth,  continued  in  silence 
to  steer  the  true  course,  guiding  the  Good  Hope  among 
the  formidable  billows.  To  their  empty  terrors,  as  to 
their  dishonourable  threats,  between  drink  and  dignity 
he  scorned  to  make  reply.  The  malcontents  drew  to- 
gether a  little  abaft  the  mast,  and  it  was  plain  they  were 
like  barnyard  cocks,  "  crowing  for  courage."  Presently 
they  would  be  fit  for  any  extremity  of  injustice  or  in- 
gratitude. Dick  began  to  mount  by  the  ladder,  eager 
to  interpose;  but  one  of  the  outlaws,  who  was  also 
something  of  a  seaman,  got  beforehand. 

175 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 


(( 


Lads,"  he  began,  **y'  are  right  wooden  heads,  1 
think.  For  to  get  back,  by  the  mass,  we  must  have  an 
oifmg,  must  we  not  ?    And  this  old  Lawless " 

Someone  struck  the  speaker  on  the  mouth,  and  the 
next  moment,  as  a  fire  springs  among  dry  straw,  he  was 
felled  upon  the  deck,  trampled  under  the  feet,  and  de- 
spatched by  the  daggers  of  his  cowardly  companions. 
At  this  the  wrath  of  Lawless  rose  and  broke. 

"Steer  yourselves,"  he  bellowed,  with  a  curse;  and, 
careless  of  the  result,  he  left  the  helm. 

The  Good  Hope  was,  at  that  moment,  trembling  on 
the  summit  of  a  swell.  She  subsided,  with  sickening 
velocity,  upon  the  farther  side.  A  wave,  like  a  great 
black  bulwark,  hove  immediately  in  front  of  her;  and, 
with  a  staggering  blow,  she  plunged  headforemost 
through  that  liquid  hill.  The  green  water  passed  right 
over  her  from  stem  to  stern,  as  high  as  a  man's  knees ; 
the  sprays  ran  higher  than  the  mast;  and  she  rose  again 
upon  the  other  side,  with  an  appalling,  tremulous  inde- 
cision, like  a  beast  that  has  been  deadly  wounded. 

Six  or  seven  of  the  malcontents  had  been  carried  bodily 
overboard ;  and  as  for  the  remainder,  when  they  found 
their  tongues  again,  it  was  to  bellow  to  the  saints  and 
wail  upon  Lawless  to  come  back  and  take  the  tiller. 

Nor  did  Lawless  wait  to  be  twice  bidden.  The  ter- 
rible result  of  his  fling  of  just  resentment  sobered  him 
completely.  He  knew,  better  than  any  one  on  board, 
how  nearly  the  Good  Hope  had  gone  bodily  down  be- 
low their  feet;  and  he  could  tell,  by  the  laziness  with 
which  she  met  the  sea,  that  the  peril  was  by  no  means 
over. 

Dick,  who  had  been  thrown  down  by  the  concussion 
176 


THE   GOOD   HOPE 

and  half  drowned,  rose  wading  to  his  knees  in  the 
swamped  well  of  the  stern,  and  crept  to  the  old  helms- 
man's side. 

"  Lawless, "  he  said,  *'  we  do  all  depend  on  you ;  y'  are 
a  brave,  steady  man,  indeed,  and  crafty  in  the  manage- 
ment of  ships;  I  shall  put  three  sure  men  to  watch  upon 
your  safety." 

**  Bootless,  my  master,  bootless,"  said  the  steersman, 
peering  forward  through  the  dark.  '*We  come  every 
moment  somewhat  clearer  of  these  sandbanks;  with 
every  moment,  then,  the  sea  packeth  upon  us  heavier, 
and  for  all  these  whimperers,  they  will  presently  be  on 
their  backs.  For,  my  master,  'tis  a  right  mystery,  but 
true,  there  never  yet  was  a  bad  man  that  was  a  good 
shipman.  None  but  the  honest  and  the  bold  can  endure 
me  this  tossing  of  a  ship." 

"Nay,  Lawless,"  said  Dick,  laughing,  **  that  is  a  right 
shipman's  byword,  and  hath  no  more  of  sense  than  the 
whistle  of  the  wind.  But,  prithee,  how  go  we  ?  Do  we 
lie  well  ?    Are  we  in  good  case  ?  " 

"Master  Shelton,"  replied  Lawless,  "I  have  been  a 
Grey  Friar —  I  praise  fortune  —  an  archer,  a  thief,  and  a 
shipman.  Of  all  these  coats,  I  had  the  best  fancy  to  die 
in  the  Grey  Friar's,  as  ye  may  readily  conceive,  and  the 
least  fancy  to  die  in  John  Shipman's  tarry  jacket;  and 
that  for  two  excellent  good  reasons :  first,  that  the  death 
might  take  a  man  suddenly;  and  second,  for  the  horror 
of  that  great,  salt  smother  and  welter  under  my  foot 
here" — and  Lawless  stamped  with  his  foot.  "How- 
beit,"  he  went  on,  "an  I  die  not  a  sailor's  death,  and 
that  this  night,  I  shall  owe  a  tall  candle  to  our  Lady." 

'Ms  it  so?"  asked  Dick. 

177 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

*'  It  is  right  so,"  replied  the  outlaw.  *'  Do  ye  not  feel 
how  heavy  and  dull  she  moves  upon  the  waves  ?  Do 
ye  not  hear  the  water  washing  in  her  hold  ?  She  will 
scarce  mind  the  rudder  even  now.  Bide  till  she  has 
settled  a  bit  lower;  and  she  will  either  go  down  below 
your  boots  like  a  stone  image,  or  drive  ashore  here, 
under  our  lee,  and  come  all  to  pieces  like  a  twist  of 
string." 

'*Ye  speak  with  a  good  courage,"  returned  Dick. 
'*Ye  are  not  then  appalled?" 

**Why,  master,"  answered  Lawless,  "if  ever  a  man 
had  an  ill  crew  to  come  to  port  with,  it  is  I  —  a  renegade 
friar,  a  thief,  and  all  the  rest  on't.  Well,  ye  may  won- 
der, but  I  keep  a  good  hope  in  my  wallet ;  and  if  that  I 
be  to  drown,  I  will  drown  with  a  bright  eye.  Master 
Shelton,  and  a  steady  hand." 

Dick  returned  no  answer;  but  he  was  surprised  to 
find  the  old  vagabond  of  so  resolute  a  temper,  and  fear- 
ing some  fresh  violence  or  treachery,  set  forth  upon  his 
quest  for  three  sure  men.  The  great  bulk  of  the  men 
had  now  deserted  the  deck,  which  was  continually 
wetted  with  the  flying  sprays,  and  where  they  lay  ex- 
posed to  the  shrewdness  of  the  winter  wind.  They  had 
gathered,  instead,  into  the  hold  of  the  merchandise, 
among  the  butts  of  wine,  and  lighted  by  two  swinging 
lanterns. 

Here  a  few  kept  up  the  form  of  revelry,  and  toasted 
each  other  deep  in  Arblaster's  Gascony  wine.  But  as 
the  Good  Hope  continued  to  tear  through  the  smoking 
waves,  and  toss  her  stem  and  stern  alternately  high  in 
air  and  deep  into  white  foam,  the  number  of  these  jolly 
companions  diminished  with  every  moment  and  with 

178 


THE  GOOD   HOPE 

every  lurch.  Many  sat  apart,  tending  their  hurts,  but 
the  majority  were  already  prostrated  with  sickness,  and 
lay  moaning  in  the  bilge. 

Greensheve,  Cuckow,  and  a  young  fellow  of  Lord 
Foxham's  whom  Dick  had  already  remarked  for  his  in- 
telligence and  spirit,  were  still,  however,  both  fit  to 
understand  and  willing  to  obey.  These  Dick  set,  as  a 
body-guard,  about  the  person  of  the  steersman,  and 
then,  with  a  last  look  at  the  black  sky  and  sea,  he 
turned  and  went  below  into  the  cabin,  whither  Lord 
Foxham  had  been  carried  by  his  servants. 


^79 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  GOOD   HOPE 

(concluded) 

The  moans  of  the  wounded  baron  blended  with  the 
wailing  of  the  ship's  dog.  The  poor  animal,  whether 
he  was  merely  sick  at  heart  to  be  separated  from  his 
friends,  or  whether  he  indeed  recognised  some  peril  in 
the  labouring  of  the  ship,  raised  his  cries,  like  minute- 
guns,  above  the  roar  of  wave  and  weather;  and  the 
more  superstitious  of  the  men  heard,  in  these  sounds, 
the  knell  of  the  Good  Hope. 

Lord  Foxham  had  been  laid  in  a  berth  upon  a  fur 
cloak.  A  little  lamp  burned  dim  before  the  Virgin  in 
the  bulkhead,  and  by  its  glimmer  Dick  could  see  the 
pale  countenance  and  hollow  eyes  of  the  hurt  man. 

"  I  am  sore  hurt,"  said  he.  "  Come  near  to  my  side, 
young  Shelton ;  let  there  be  one  by  me  who,  at  least,  is 
gentle  born ;  for  after  having  lived  nobly  and  richly  all 
the  days  of  my  life,  this  is  a  sad  pass  that  1  should  get  my 
hurt  in  a  little  ferreting  skirmish,  and  die  here,  in  a  foul, 
cold  ship  upon  the  sea,  among  broken  men  and  churls." 

''Nay,  my  lord,"  said  Dick,  "I  pray  rather  to  the 
saints  that  ye  will  recover  you  of  your  hurt,  and  come 
soon  and  sound  ashore." 

*'How!"  demanded  his  lordship.  "Come  sound 
ashore  ?    There  is,  then,  a  question  of  it  ?  " 

180 


THE  GOOD   HOPE 

"The  ship  laboureth  —  the  sea  is  grievous  and  con- 
trary," replied  the  lad;  "and  by  what  I  can  learn  of  my 
fellow  that  steereth  us,  we  shall  do  well,  indeed,  if  we 
come  dryshod  to  land." 

"Ha!"  said  the  baron,  gloomily,  "thus  shall  every 
terror  attend  upon  the  passage  of  my  soul  I  Sir,  pray 
rather  to  live  hard,  that  ye  may  die  easy,  than  to  be 
fooled  and  fluted  all  through  life,  as  to  the  pipe  and 
tabor,  and,  in  the  last  hour,  be  plunged  among  misfor- 
tunes! Howbeit,  I  have  that  upon  my  mind  that  must 
not  be  delayed.     We  have  no  priest  aboard  ?  " 

"None,"  replied  Dick. 

*'Here,  then,  to  my  secular  interests,"  resumed  Lord 
Foxham:  "ye  must  be  as  good  a  friend  to  me  dead,  as 
I  found  you  a  gallant  enemy  when  I  was  living.  I  fall 
in  an  evil  hour  for  me,  for  England,  and  for  them  that 
trusted  me.  My  men  are  being  brought  by  Hamley  — 
he  that  was  your  rival ;  they  will  rendezvous  in  the  long 
holm  at  Holy  wood ;  this  ring  from  off  my  finger  will 
accredit  you  to  represent  mine  orders ;  and  I  shall  write, 
besides,  two  words  upon  this  paper,  bidding  Hamley 
yield  to  you  the  damsel.    Will  he  obey  ?    I  know  not." 

"  But,  my  lord,  what  orders  ?"  inquired  Dick. 

"Ay,"  quoth  the  baron,  **ay  —  the  orders;"  and  he 
looked  upon  Dick  with  hesitation.  "Are  ye  Lancaster 
or  York  ?"  he  asked,  at  length. 

"I  shame  to  say  it,"  answered  Dick,  "I  can  scarce 
clearly  answer.  But  so  much  I  think  is  certain :  since 
I  serve  with  Ellis  Duckworth,  I  serve  the  house  of  York. 
Well,  if  that  be  so,  1  declare  for  York." 

'*lt  is  well,"  returned  the  other;  *Mt  is  exceeding 
well.     For,  truly,  had  ye  said  Lancaster,  I  wot  not  for 

181 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

the  world  what  I  had  done.  But  sith  ye  are  for  York, 
follow  me.  I  came  hither  but  to  watch  these  lords  at 
Shoreby,  while  mine  excellent  young  lord,  Richard  of 
Gloucester,  1  prepareth  a  sufficient  force  to  fall  upon  and 
scatter  them.  I  have  made  me  notes  of  their  strength, 
what  watch  they  keep,  and  how  they  lie;  and  these  I 
was  to  deliver  to  my  young  lord  on  Sunday,  an  hour 
before  noon,  at  St.  Bride's  Cross  beside  the  forest.  This 
tryst  I  am  not  like  to  keep,  but  I  pray  you,  of  courtesy, 
to  keep  it  in  my  stead ;  and  see  that  not  pleasure,  nor 
pain,  tempest,  wound,  nor  pestilence  withhold  you 
from  the  hour  and  place,  for  the  welfare  of  England 
lieth  upon  this  cast." 

"  I  do  soberly  take  this  upon  me,"  said  Dick.  *'  In  so 
far  as  in  me  lieth,  your  purpose  shall  be  done." 

**It  is  good,"  said  the  wounded  man.  **My  lord 
duke  shall  order  you  farther,  and  if  ye  obey  him  with 
spirit  and  good  will,  then  is  your  fortune  made.  Give 
me  the  lamp  a  little  nearer  to  mine  eyes,  till  that  I  write 
these  words  for  you." 

He  wrote  a  note  *'to  his  worshipful  kinsman.  Sir  John 
Hamley ; "  and  then  a  second,  which  he  left  without  ex- 
ternal superscripture. 

"This  is  for  the  duke,"  he  said.  '*The  word  is 
'  England  and  Edward,'  and  the  counter,  'England  and 
York.'" 

"And Joanna,  my  lord.?"  asked  Dick. 

"Nay,  ye  must  get  Joanna  how  ye  can,"  replied  the 
baron.     "  I  have  named  you  for  my  choice  in  both  these 

1  At  the  date  of  this  story,  Richard  Crookback  could  not  have  been 
created  Duke  of  Gloucester;  but  for  clearness,  with  the  reader's  leave, 
he  shall  so  be  called. 

182 


THE  GOOD   HOPE 

letters ;  but  ye  must  get  her  for  yourself,  boy.  I  have 
tried,  as  ye  see  here  before  you,  and  have  lost  my  life. 
More  could  no  man  do." 

By  this  time  the  wounded  man  began  to  be  very 
weary;  and  Dick,  putting  the  precious  papers  in  his 
bosom,  bade  him  be  of  good  cheer,  and  left  him  to 
repose. 

The  day  was  beginning  to  break,  cold  and  blue,  with 
flying  squalls  of  snow.  Close  under  the  lee  of  the  Good 
Hope,  the  coast  lay  in  alternate  rocky  headlands  and 
sandy  bays ;  and  further  inland  the  wooded  hill-tops  of 
Tunstall  showed  along  the  sky.  Both  the  wind  and  the 
sea  had  gone  down;  but  the  vessel  wallowed  deep,  and 
scarce  rose  upon  the  waves. 

Lawless  was  still  fixed  at  the  rudder;  and  by  this 
time  nearly  all  the  men  had  crawled  on  deck,  and  were 
now  gazing,  with  blank  faces,  upon  the  inhospitable 
coast. 

**  Are  we  going  ashore  ?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  Ay,"  said  Lawless,  '*  unless  we  get  first  to  the  bot- 
tom." 

And  just  then  the  ship  rose  so  languidly  to  meet  a  sea, 
and  the  water  weltered  so  loudly  in  her  hold,  that  Dick 
involuntarily  seized  the  steersman  by  the  arm. 

*'  By  the  mass!  "  cried  Dick,  as  the  bows  of  the  Good 
Hope  reappeared  above  the  foam,  "  I  thought  we  had 
foundered,  indeed;  my  heart  was  at  my  throat." 

In  the  waist,  Greensheve,  Hawksley,  and  the  better 
men  of  both  companies  were  busy  breaking  up  the  deck 
to  build  a  raft;  and  to  these  Dick  joined  himself,  work- 
ing the  harder  to  drown  the  memory  of  his  predicament. 
But,  even  as  he  worked,  every  sea  that  struck  the  poor 

183 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

ship,  and  every  one  of  her  dull  lurches,  as  she  tumbled 
wallowing  among  the  waves,  recalled  him  with  a  horrid 
pang  to  the  immediate  proximity  of  death. 

Presently,  looking  up  from  his  work,  he  saw  that 
they  were  close  in  below  a  promontory ;  a  piece  of  ru- 
inous cliff,  against  the  base  of  which  the  sea  broke  white 
and  heavy,  almost  overplumbed  the  deck;  and,  above 
that,  again,  a  house  appeared,  crowning  a  down. 

Inside  the  bay  the  seas  ran  gayly,  raised  the  Good 
Hope  upon  their  foam-flecked  shoulders,  carried  her  be- 
yond the  control  of  the  steersman,  and  in  a  moment 
dropped  her,  with  a  great  concussion,  on  the  sand,  and 
began  to  break  over  her  half-mast  high,  and  roll  her  to 
and  fro.  Another  great  wave  followed,  raised  her  again, 
and  carried  her  yet  farther  in;  and  then  a  third  suc- 
ceeded, and  left  her  far  inshore  of  the  more  dangerous 
breakers,  wedged  upon  a  bank. 

"Now,  boys,"  cried  Lawless,  "the  saints  have  had  a 
care  of  us,  indeed.  The  tide  ebbs ;  let  us  but  sit  down 
and  drink  a  cup  of  wine,  and  before  half  an  hour  ye 
may  all  march  me  ashore  as  safe  as  on  a  bridge." 

A  barrel  was  broached,  and,  sitting  in  what  shelter 
they  could  find  from  the  flying  snow  and  spray,  the 
shipw^recked  company  handed  the  cup  around,  and 
sought  to  warm  their  bodies  and  restore  their  spirits. 

Dick,  meanwhile,  returned  to  Lord  Foxham,  who  lay 
in  great  perplexity  and  fear,  the  floor  of  his  cabin  wash- 
ing knee-deep  in  water,  and  the  lamp,  which  had  been 
his  only  light,  broken  and  extinguished  by  the  violence 
of  the  blow. 

" My  lord,"  said  young  Shelton,  "fear  not  at  all;  the 
saints  are  plainly  for  us ;  the  seas  have  cast  us  high  upon 

184 


THE   GOOD   HOPE 

a  shoal,  and  as  soon  as  the  tide  hath  somewhat  ebbed, 
we  may  walk  ashore  upon  our  feet." 

It  was  nearly  an  hour  before  the  vessel  was  suffi- 
ciently deserted  by  the  ebbing  sea ;  and  they  could  set 
forth  for  the  land,  which  appeared  dimly  before  them 
through  a  veil  of  driving  snow. 

Upon  a  hillock  on  one  side  of  their  way  a  party  of 
men  lay  huddled  together,  suspiciously  observing  the 
movements  of  the  new  arrivals. 

"They  might  draw  near  and  offer  us  some  comfort," 
Dick  remarked. 

*'  Well,  an'  they  come  not  to  us,  let  us  even  turn  aside 
to  them,"  said  Hawksley.  "  The  sooner  we  come  to  a 
good  fire  and  a  dry  bed  the  better  for  my  poor  lord." 

But  they  had  not  moved  far  in  the  direction  of  the 
hillock,  before  the  men,  with  one  consent,  rose  suddenly 
to  their  feet,  and  poured  a  flight  of  well-directed  arrows 
on  the  shipwrecked  company. 

"Back!  back!"  cried  his  lordship.  "Beware,  in 
Heaven's  name,  that  ye  reply  not." 

"Nay,"  cried  Greensheve,  pulling  an  arrow  from  his 
leather  jack.  "  We  are  in  no  posture  to  fight,  it  is  cer- 
tain, being  drenching  wet,  dog-weary,  and  three-parts 
frozen ;  but,  for  the  love  of  old  England,  what  aileth 
them  to  shoot  thus  cruelly  on  their  poor  country  people 
in  distress  ?  " 

"They  take  us  to  be  French  pirates,"  answered  Lord 
Foxham.  "  In  these  most  troublesome  and  degenerate 
days  we  cannot  keep  our  own  shores  of  England ;  but 
our  old  enemies,  whom  we  once  chased  on  sea  and  land, 
do  now  range  at  pleasure,  robbing  and  slaughtering  and 
burning.     It  is  the  pity  and  reproach  of  this  poor  land." 

185 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

The  men  upon  the  hillock  lay,  closely  observing  them, 
while  they  trailed  upward  from  the  beach  and  wound 
inland  among  desolate  sand-hills;  for  a  mile  or  so  they 
even  hung  upon  the  rear  of  the  march,  ready,  at  a  sign, 
to  pour  another  volley  on  the  weary  and  dispirited  fu- 
gitives ;  and  it  was  only  when,  striking  at  length  upon 
a  firm  high-road,  Dick  began  to  call  his  men  to  some 
more  martial  order,  that  these  jealous  guardians  of  the 
coast  of  England  silently  disappeared  among  the  snow. 
They  had  done  what  they  desired ;  they  had  protected 
their  own  homes  and  farms,  their  own  families  and 
cattle;  and  their  private  interest  being  thus  secured,  it 
mattered  not  the  weight  of  a  straw  to  any  one  of  them, 
although  the  Frenchmen  should  carry  blood  and  fire  to 
every  other  parish  in  the  realm  of  England. 


1 86 


BOOK  IV 

THE  DISGUISE 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  DEN 

THE  place  where  Dick  had  struck  the  line  of  a  high- 
road was  not  far  from  Holy  wood,  and  within  nine 
or  ten  miles  of  Shoreby-on-the-Till ;  and  here,  after 
making  sure  that  they  were  pursued  no  longer,  the 
two  bodies  separated.  Lord  Foxham's  followers  de- 
parted, carrying  their  wounded  master  towards  the 
comfort  and  security  of  the  great  abbey;  and  Dick,  as 
he  saw  them  wind  away  and  disappear  in  the  thick  cur- 
tain of  the  falling  snow,  was  left  alone  with  near  upon 
a  dozen  outlaws,  the  last  remainder  of  his  troop  of  vol- 
unteers. 

Some  were  wounded;  one  and  all  were  furious  at 
their  ill-success  and  long  exposure;  and  though  they 
were  now  too  cold  and  hungry  to  do  more,  they  grum- 
bled and  cast  sullen  looks  upon  their  leaders.  Dick 
emptied  his  purse  among  them,  leaving  himself  noth- 
ing; thanked  them  for  the  courage  they  had  displayed, 
though  he  could  have  found  it  more  readily  in  his  heart 
to  rate  them  for  poltroonery;  and  having  thus  some- 
what softened  the  effect  of  his  prolonged  misfortune, 
despatched  them  to  find  their  way,  either  severally  or 
in  pairs,  to  Shoreby  and  the  Goat  and  Bagpipes. 

For  his  own  part,  influenced  by  what  he  had  seen  on 
board  of  the  Good  Hope,  he  chose  Lawless  to  be  his 

189 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

companion  on  the  walk.  The  snow  was  falling,  with- 
out pause  or  variation,  in  one  even,  blinding  cloud ;  the 
wind  had  been  strangled,  and  now  blew  no  longer; 
and  the  whole  world  was  blotted  out  and  sheeted  down 
below  that  silent  inundation.  There  was  great  danger 
of  wandering  by  the  way  and  perishing  in  drifts;  and 
Lawless,  keeping  half  a  step  in  front  of  his  companion, 
and  holding  his  head  forward  like  a  hunting  dog  upon  the 
scent,  inquired  his  way  of  every  tree,  and  studied  out  their 
path  as  though  he  were  conning  a  ship  among  dangers. 

About  a  mile  into  the  forest  they  came  to  a  place 
where  several  ways  met,  under  a  grove  of  lofty  and 
contorted  oaks.  Even  in  the  narrow  horizon  of  the 
falling  snow,  it  was  a  spot  that  could  not  fail  to  be 
recognised;  and  Lawless  evidently  recognised  it  with 
particular  delight. 

"Now,  Master  Richard,"  said  he,  **an  y'  are  not  too 
proud  to  be  the  guest  of  a  man  who  is  neither  a  gentle- 
man by  birth  nor  so  much  as  a  good  Christian,  I  can 
offer  you  a  cup  of  wine  and  a  good  fire  to  melt  the 
marrow  in  your  frozen  bones." 

"  Lead  on,  Will,"  answered  Dick.  *' A  cup  of  wine 
and  a  good  fire!  Nay,  I  would  go  a  far  way  round  to 
see  them." 

Lawless  turned  aside  under  the  bare  branches  of  the 
grove,  and,  walking  resolutely  forward  for  some  time, 
came  to  a  steepish  hollow  or  den,  that  had  now  drifted 
a  quarter  full  of  snow.  On  the  verge,  a  great  beech- 
tree  hung,  precariously  rooted ;  and  here  the  old  outlaw, 
pulling  aside  some  bushy  underwood,  bodily  disap- 
peared into  the  earth. 

The  beech  had,  in  some  violent  gale,  been  half-up- 
190 


THE   DEN 

rooted,  and  had  torn  up  a  considerable  stretch  of  turf; 
and  it  was  under  this  that  old  Lawless  had  dug  out  his 
forest  hiding-place.  The  roots  served  him  for  rafters, 
the  turf  was  his  thatch ;  for  walls  and  floor  he  had  his 
mother  the  earth.  Rude  as  it  was,  the  hearth  in  one 
corner,  blackened  by  fire,  and  the  presence  in  another 
of  a  large  oaken  chest  well  fortified  with  iron,  showed 
it  at  one  glance  to  be  the  den  of  a  man,  and  not  the 
burrow  of  a  digging  beast. 

Though  the  snow  had  drifted  at  the  mouth  and  sifted 
in  upon  the  floor  of  this  earth  cavern,  yet  was  the  air 
much  warmer  than  without;  and  when  Lawless  had 
struck  a  spark,  and  the  dry  furze  bushes  had  begun  to 
blaze  and  crackle  on  the  hearth,  the  place  assumed, 
even  to  the  eye,  an  air  of  comfort  and  of  home. 

With  a  sigh  of  great  contentment,  Lawless  spread  his 
broad  hands  before  the  fire,  and  seemed  to  breathe  the 
smoke. 

'*Here,  then,"  he  said,  "is  this  old  Lawless's  rabbit- 
hole;  pray  Heaven  there  come  no  terrier!  Far  I  have 
rolled  hither  and  thither,  and  here  and  about,  since  that 
I  was  fourteen  years  of  mine  age  and  first  ran  away 
from  mine  abbey,  with  the  sacrist's  gold  chain  and  a 
mass-book  that  I  sold  for  four  marks.  I  have  been  in 
England  and  France  and  Burgundy,  and  in  Spain,  too, 
on  a  pilgrimage  for  my  poor  soul;  and  upon  the  sea, 
which  is  no  man's  country.  But  here  is  my  place, 
Master  Shelton.  This  is  my  native  land,  this  burrow 
in  the  earth!  Come  rain  or  wind  —  and  whether  it's 
April,  and  the  birds  all  sing,  and  the  blossoms  fall  about 
my  bed  —  or  whether  it's  winter,  and  I  sit  alone  with 
my  good  gossip  the  fire,  and  robin  red  breast  twitters 

191 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

in  the  woods — here,  is  my  church  and  market,  and  my 
wife  and  child.  It's  here  I  come  back  to,  and  it's  here, 
so  please  the  saints,  that  I  would  like  to  die." 

"  'Tis  a  warm  corner,  to  be  sure,"  replied  Dick,  *'and 
a  pleasant,  and  a  well  hid." 

"It  had  need  to  be,"  returned  Lawless,  '*for  an  they 
found  it.  Master  Shelton,  it  would  break  my  heart.  But 
here,"  he  added,  burrowing  with  his  stout  fingers  in  the 
sandy  floor,  "  here  is  my  wine  cellar;  and  ye  shall  have 
a  flask  of  excellent  strong  stingo." 

Sure  enough,  after  but  a  little  digging,  he  produced  a 
big  leathern  bottle  of  about  a  gallon,  nearly  three-parts 
full  of  a  very  heady  and  sweet  wine;  and  when  they 
had  drunk  to  each  other  comradely,  and  the  fire  had 
been  replenished  and  blazed  up  again,  the  pair  lay  at  full 
length,  thawing  and  steaming,  and  divinely  warm. 

"  Master  Shelton,"  observed  the  outlaw,  "y'  'ave  had 
two  mischances  this  last  while,  and  y'  are  like  to  lose 
the  maid  —  do  I  take  it  aright?" 

"Aright!"  returned  Dick,  nodding  his  head. 

"Well,  now,"  continued  Lawless,  "hear  an  old  fool 
that  hath  been  nigh-hand  everything,  and  seen  nigh- 
hand  all!  Ye  go  too  much  on  other  people's  errands. 
Master  Dick.  Ye  go  on  Ellis's ;  but  he  desireth  rather 
the  death  of  Sir  Daniel.  Ye  go  on  Lord  Foxham's; 
well — the  saints  preserve  him!  —  doubtless  he  meaneth 
well.  But  go  ye  upon  your  own,  good  Dick.  Come 
right  to  the  maid's  side.  Court  her,  lest  that  she  forget 
you.  Be  ready ;  and  when  the  chance  shall  come,  off 
with  her  at  the  saddle-bow." 

"Ay,  but,  Lawless,  beyond  doubt  she  is  now  in  Sir 
Daniel's  own  mansion,"  answered  Dick. 

192 


THE  DEN 

*' Thither,  then,  go  we,"  replied  the  outlaw. 

Dick  stared  at  him. 

"Nay,  I  mean  it,"  nodded  Lawless.  "And  if  y*  are 
of  so  little  faith,  and  stumble  at  a  word,  see  here ! " 

And  the  outlaw,  taking  a  key  from  about  his  neck, 
opened  the  oak  chest,  and  dipping  and  groping  deep 
among  its  contents,  produced  first  a  friar's  robe,  and 
next  a  girdle  of  rope ;  and  then  a  huge  rosary  of  wood, 
heavy  enough  to  be  counted  as  a  weapon. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  is  for  you.     On  with  them ! " 

And  then,  when  Dick  had  clothed  himself  in  this 
clerical  disguise,  Lawless  produced  some  colours  and  a 
pencil,  and  proceeded,  with  the  greatest  cunning,  to 
disguise  his  face.  The  eyebrows  he  thickened  and  pro- 
duced ;  to  the  moustache,  which  was  yet  hardly  visible, 
he  rendered  a  like  service;  while,  by  a  few  lines  around 
the  eye,  he  changed  the  expression  and  increased  the 
apparent  age  of  this  young  monk. 

"Now,"  he  resumed,  "when  I  have  done  the  like, 
we  shall  make  as  bonny  a  pair  of  friars  as  the  eye  could 
wish.  Boldly  to  Sir  Daniel's  we  shall  go,  and  there  be 
hospitably  welcome  for  the  love  of  Mother  Church." 

"And  how,  dear  Lawless,"  cried  the  lad,  "shall  I 
repay  you  ?  " 

"Tut,  brother,"  replied  the  outlaw,  "  I  do  naught  but 
for  my  pleasure.  Mind  not  for  me.  I  am  one,  by  the 
mass,  that  mindeth  for  himself.  When  that  I  lack,  I 
have  a  long  tongue  and  a  voice  like  the  monastery  bell 
—  1  do  ask,  my  son ;  and  where  asking  faileth,  I  do  most 
usually  take." 

The  old  rogue  made  a  humorous  grimace;  and  al- 
though Dick  was  displeased  to  lie  under  so  great  favours 

193 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

to  SO  equivocal  a  personage,  he  was  yet  unable  to  re- 
strain his  mirth. 

With  that,  Lawless  returned  to  the  big  chest,  and 
was  soon  similarly  disguised;  but,  below  his  gown, 
Dick  wondered  to  observe  him  conceal  a  sheaf  of  black 
arrows. 

"  Wherefore  do  ye  that  ?  "  asked  the  lad.  *'  Where- 
fore arrows,  when  ye  take  no  bow  ?  " 

"Nay,"  replied  Lawless,  lightly,  "'tis  like  there  will 
be  heads  broke  —  not  to  say  backs  —  ere  you  and  I  win 
sound  from  where  we're  going  to;  and  if  any  fall,  I 
would  our  fellowship  should  come  by  the  credit  on't. 
A  black  arrow.  Master  Dick,  is  the  seal  of  our  abbey ; 
it  showeth  you  who  writ  the  bill." 

"  An  ye  prepare  so  carefully,"  said  Dick,  "  I  have  here 
some  papers  that,  for  mine  own  sake,  and  the  interest 
of  those  that  trusted  me,  were  better  left  behind  than 
found  upon  my  body.  Where  shall  1  conceal  them, 
Will  ?  " 

"Nay,"  replied  Lawless,  "I  will  go  forth  into  the 
wood  and  whistle  me  three  verses  of  a  song;  mean- 
while, do  you  bury  them  where  ye  please,  and  smooth 
the  sand  upon  the  place." 

"Never!  "  cried  Richard.  "  I  trust  you,  man.  I  were 
base  indeed  if  1  not  trusted  you." 

"  Brother,  y'  are  but  a  child,"  replied  the  old  outlaw, 
pausing  and  turning  his  face  upon  Dick  from  the  thresh- 
old of  the  den.  "1  am  a  kind  old  Christian,  and  no 
traitor  to  men's  blood,  and  no  sparer  of  mine  own  in  a 
friend's  jeopardy.  But,  fool,  child,  I  am  a  thief  by  trade 
and  birth  and  habit.  If  my  bottle  were  empty  and  my 
mouth  dry,  I  would  rob  you,  dear  child,  as  sure  as  I  love, 

194 


THE   DEN 

honour,  and  admire  your  parts  and  person!  Can  it  be 
clearer  spoken  ?    No." 

And  he  stumped  forth  through  the  bushes  with  a  snap 
of  his  big  fingers. 

Dick,  thus  left  alone,  after  a  wondering  thought  upon 
the  inconsistencies  of  his  companion's  character,  hastily 
produced,  reviewed,  and  buried  his  papers.  One  only 
he  reserved  to  carry  along  with  him,  since  it  in  nowise 
compromised  his  friends,  and  yet  might  serve  him,  in  a 
pinch,  against  Sir  Daniel.  That  was  the  knight's  own 
letter  to  Lord  Wensleydale,  sent  by  Throgmorton,  on 
the  morrow  of  the  defeat  at  Risingham,  and  found  next 
day  by  Dick  upon  the  body  of  the  messenger. 

Then,  treading  down  the  embers  of  the  fire,  Dick  left 
the  den,  and  rejoined  the  old  outlaw,  who  stood  await- 
ing him  under  the  leafless  oaks,  and  was  already  begin- 
ning to  be  powdered  by  the  falling  snow.  Each  looked 
upon  the  other,  and  each  laughed,  so  thorough  and  so 
droll  was  the  disguise. 

"Yet  1  would  it  were  but  summer  and  a  clear  day,'* 
grumbled  the  outlaw,  "that  I  might  see  myself  in  the 
mirror  of  a  pool.  There  be  many  of  Sir  Daniel's  men 
that  know  me;  and  if  we  fell  to  be  recognised,  there 
might  be  two  words  for  you,  brother,  but  as  for  me, 
in  a  paternoster  while,  I  should  be  kicking  in  a  rope's- 
end." 

Thus  they  set  forth  together  along  the  road  to  Shoreby, 
which,  in  this  part  of  its  course,  kept  near  along  the 
margin  ot  the  forest,  coming  forth,  from  time  to  time, 
in  the  open  country,  and  passing  beside  poor  folks* 
houses  and  small  farms. 

Presently  at  sight  of  one  of  these,  Lawless  pulled  up. 
»95 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

*' Brother  Martin,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  capitally  dis- 
guised, and  suited  to  his  monkish  robe,  'Met  us  enter 
and  seek  alms  from  these  poor  sinners.  Pax  vobiscumf 
Ay,"  he  added,  in  his  own  voice,  **'tis  as  I  feared;  I 
have  somewhat  lost  the  whine  of  it;  and  by  your  leave, 
good  Master  Shelton,  ye  must  suffer  me  to  practise  in 
these  country  places,  before  that  I  risk  my  fat  neck  by 
entering  Sir  Daniel's.  But  look  ye  a  little,  what  an  ex- 
cellent thing  it  is  to  be  a  Jack-of-all-trades !  An  1  had 
not  been  a  shipman,  ye  had  infallibly  gone  down  in  the 
Good  Hope ;  an  I  had  not  been  a  thief,  I  could  not  have 
painted  me  your  face;  and  but  that  I  had  been  a  Grey 
Friar,  and  sung  loud  in  the  choir,  and  ate  hearty  at  the 
board,  I  could  not  have  carried  this  disguise,  but  the 
very  dogs  would  have  spied  us  out  and  barked  at  us  for 
shams." 

He  was  by  this  time  close  to  the  window  of  the  farm, 
and  he  rose  on  his  tip-toes  and  peeped  in. 

"Nay,"  he  cried,  " better  and  better.  We  shall  here 
try  our  false  faces  with  a  vengeance,  and  have  a  merry 
jest  on  Brother  Capper  to  boot." 

And  so  saying,  he  opened  the  door  and  led  the  way 
into  the  house. 

Three  of  their  own  company  sat  at  the  table,  greedily 
eating.  Their  daggers,  stuck  beside  them  in  the  board, 
and  the  black  and  menacing  looks  which  they  contin- 
ued to  shower  upon  the  people  of  the  house,  proved 
that  they  owed  their  entertainment  rather  to  force  than 
favour.  On  the  two  monks,  who  now,  with  a  sort  of 
humble  dignity,  entered  the  kitchen  of  the  farm,  they 
seemed  to  turn  with  a  particular  resentment;  and  one 
—  it  was  John  Capper  in  person  —  who  seemed  to  play 

196 


THE  DEN 

the  leading  part,  instantly  and  rudely  ordered  them 
away. 

**We  want  no  beggars  here! "  he  cried. 

But  another  —  although  he  was  as  far  from  recog- 
nising Dick  and  Lawless  —  inclined  to  more  moderate 
counsels. 

* '  Not  so, "  he  cried.  '*  We  be  strong  men,  and  take ; 
these  be  weak,  and  crave;  but  in  the  latter  end  these 
shall  be  uppermost  and  we  below.  Mind  him  not,  my 
father;  but  come,  drink  of  my  cup,  and  give  me  a  bene- 
diction." 

''Y'  are  men  of  a  light  mind,  carnal,  and  accursed," 
said  the  monk.  ''Now,  may  the  saints  forbid  that  ever 
I  should  drink  with  such  companions!  But  here,  for 
the  pity  I  bear  to  sinners,  here  I  do  leave  you  a  blessed 
relic,  the  which,  for  your  soul's  interest,  I  bid  you  kiss 
and  cherish." 

So  far  Lawless  thundered  upon  them  like  a  preaching 
friar;  but  with  these  words  he  drew  from  under  his  robe 
a  black  arrow,  tossed  it  on  the  board  in  front  of  the  three 
startled  outlaws,  turned  in  the  same  instant,  and,  taking 
Dick  along  with  him,  was  out  of  the  room  and  out  of 
sight  among  the  falling  snow  before  they  had  time  to 
utter  a  word  or  move  a  finger. 

**So,"  he  said,  "we  have  proved  our  false  faces, 
Master  Shelton.  I  will  now  adventure  my  poor  carcase 
where  ye  please." 

"Good!"  returned  Richard.  **It  irks  me  to  be  do- 
ing.   Set  we  on  for  Shoreby  1 " 


197 


CHAPTER  II 


Sir  Daniel's  residence  in  Shoreby  was  a  tall,  com- 
modious, plastered  mansion,  framed  in  carven  oak,  and 
covered  by  a  low-pitched  roof  of  thatch.  To  the  back 
there  stretched  a  garden,  full  of  fruit-trees,  alleys,  and 
thick  arbours,  and  overlooked  from  the  far  end  by  the 
tower  of  the  abbey  church. 

The  house  might  contain,  upon  a  pinch,  the  retinue 
of  a  greater  person  than  Sir  Daniel ;  but  even  now  it  was 
filled  with  hubbub.  The  court  rang  with  arms  and 
horseshoe-iron ;  the  kitchens  roared  with  cookery  like  a 
bees'-hive;  minstrels,  and  the  players  of  instruments, 
and  the  cries  of  tumblers,  sounded  from  the  hall.  Sir 
Daniel,  in  his  profusion,  in  the  gaiety  and  gallantry  of 
his  establishment,  rivalled  with  Lord  Shoreby,  and 
eclipsed  Lord  Risingham. 

All  guests  were  made  welcome.  Minstrels,  tumblers, 
players  ofchess,  the  sellers  of  relics,  medicines,  perfumes, 
and  enchantments,  and  along  with  these  every  sort  of 
priest,  friar,  or  pilgrim,  were  made  welcome  to  the  lower 
table,  and  slept  together  in  the  ample  lofts,  or  on  the 
bare  boards  of  the  long  dining-hall. 

On  the  afternoon  following  the  wreck  of  the  Good 
Hope,  the  buttery,  the  kitchens,  the  stables,  the  covered 

198 


"IN  MINE  ENEMIES*  HOUSE" 

cartshed  that  surrounded  two  sides  of  the  court,  were 
all  crowded  by  idle  people,  partly  belonging  to  Sir 
Daniel's  establishment,  and  attired  in  his  livery  of  mur- 
rey and  blue,  partly  nondescript  strangers  attracted  to 
the  town  by  greed,  and  received  by  the  knight  through 
policy,  and  because  it  was  the  fashion  of  the  time. 

The  snow,  which  still  fell  without  interruption,  the 
extreme  chill  of  the  air,  and  the  approach  of  night,  com- 
bined to  keep  them  under  shelter.  Wine,  ale,  and 
money  were  all  plentiful ;  many  sprawled  gambling  in 
the  straw  of  the  barn,  many  were  still  drunken  from  the 
noontide  meal.  To  the  eye  of  a  modern  it  would  have 
looked  like  the  sack  of  a  city ;  to  the  eye  of  a  contem- 
porary it  was  like  any  other  rich  and  noble  household 
at  a  festive  season. 

Two  monks  —  a  young  and  an  old  —  had  arrived  late, 
and  were  now  warming  themselves  at  a  bonfire  in  a 
corner  of  the  shed.  A  mixed  crowd  surrounded  them 
— jugglers,  mountebanks,  and  soldiers;  and  with  these 
the  elder  of  the  two  had  soon  engaged  so  brisk  a  con- 
versation, and  exchanged  so  many  loud  guffaws  and 
country  witticisms,  that  the  group  momentarily  in- 
creased in  number. 

The  younger  companion,  in  whom  the  reader  has 
already  recognised  Dick  Shelton,  sat  from  the  first 
somewhat  backward,  and  gradually  drew  himself  away. 
He  listened,  indeed,  closely,  but  he  opened  not  his 
mouth;  and  by  the  grave  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance, he  made  but  little  account  of  his  companion's 
pleasantries. 

At  last  his  eye,  which  travelled  continually  to  and  fro, 
and  kept  a  guard  upon  all  the  entrances  of  the  house, 

199 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

lit  Upon  a  little  procession  entering  by  the  main  gate 
and  crossing  the  court  in  an  oblique  direction.  Two 
ladies,  muffled  in  thick  furs,  led  the  way,  and  were  fol- 
lowed by  a  pair  of  waiting-women  and  four  stout  men- 
at-arms.  The  next  moment  they  had  disappeared 
within  the  house;  and  Dick,  slipping  through  the  crowd 
of  loiterers  in  the  shed,  was  already  giving  hot  pursuit. 

"The  taller  of  these  twain  was  Lady  Brackley,"  he 
thought;  **and  where  Lady  Brackley  is,  Joan  will  not 
be  far." 

At  the  door  of  the  house  the  four  men-at-arms  had 
ceased  to  follow,  and  the  ladies  were  now  mounting 
the  stairway  of  polished  oak,  under  no  better  escort 
than  that  of  the  two  waiting-women.  Dick  followed 
close  behind.  It  was  already  the  dusk  of  the  day;  and 
in  the  house  the  darkness  of  the  night  had  almost  come. 
On  the  stair-landings,  torches  flared  in  iron  holders; 
down  the  long,  tapestried  corridors,  a  lamp  burned  by 
every  door.  And  where  the  door  stood  open,  Dick 
could  look  in  upon  arras-covered  walls  and  rush-bescat- 
tered  floors,  glowing  in  the  light  of  the  wood  fires. 

Two  floors  were  passed,  and  at  every  landing  the 
younger  and  shorter  of  the  two  ladies  had  looked  back 
keenly  at  the  monk.  He,  keeping  his  eyes  lowered, 
and  affecting  the  demure  manners  that  suited  his  dis- 
guise, had  but  seen  her  once,  and  was  unaware  that  he 
had  attracted  her  attention.  And  now,  on  the  third 
floor,  the  party  separated,  the  younger  lady  continuing 
to  ascend  alone,  the  other,  followed  by  the  waiting- 
maids,  descending  the  corridor  to  the  right. 

Dick  mounted  with  a  swift  foot,  and  holding  to  the 
corner,  thrust  forth  his  head  and  followed  the  three  wo- 

200 


"IN   MINE  ENEMIES'   HOUSE" 

men  with  his  eyes.  Without  turning  or  looking  behind 
them,  they  continued  to  descend  the  corridor. 

"  It  is  right  well, "  thought  Dick.  ' '  Let  me  but  know 
my  Lady  Brackley's  chamber,  and  it  will  go  hard  an  I 
find  not  Dame  Hatch  upon  an  errand." 

And  just  then  a  hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder,  and, 
with  a  bound  and  a  choked  cry,  he  turned  to  grapple  his 
assailant. 

He  was  somewhat  abashed  to  find,  in  the  person 
whom  he  had  so  roughly  seized,  the  short  young  lady 
in  the  furs.  She,  on  her  part,  was  shocked  and  terrified 
beyond  expression,  and  hung  trembling  in  his  grasp. 

"Madam,"  said  Dick,  releasing  her,  "I  cry  you  a 
thousand  pardons;  but  I  have  no  eyes  behind,  and,  by 
the  mass,  I  could  not  tell  ye  were  a  maid." 

The  girl  continued  to  look  at  him,  but,  by  this  time, 
terror  began  to  be  succeeded  by  surprise,  and  surprise 
by  suspicion.  Dick,  who  could  read  these  changes  on 
her  face,  became  alarmed  for  his  own  safety  in  that  hos- 
tile house. 

"Fair  maid,"  he  said,  affecting  easiness,  "suffer  me 
to  kiss  your  hand,  in  token  ye  forgive  my  roughness, 
and  I  will  even  go." 

"V  are  a  strange  monk,  young  sir,"  returned  the 
young  lady,  looking  him  both  boldly  and  shrewdly  in 
the  face;  "and  now  that  my  first  astonishment  hath 
somewhat  passed  away,  I  can  spy  the  layman  in  each 
word  you  utter.  What  do  ye  here  ?  Why  are  ye  thus 
sacrilegiously  tricked  out  ?  Come  ye  in  peace  or  war  ? 
And  why  spy  ye  after  Lady  Brackley  like  a  thief?" 

"Madam,"  quoth  Dick,  "of  one  thing  I  pray  you  to 
be  very  sure :  I  am  no  thief.     And  even  if  I  come  here 

201 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

in  war,  as  in  some  degree  I  do,  I  make  no  war  upon  fair 
maids,  and  I  hereby  entreat  them  to  copy  me  so  far,  and 
to  leave  me  be.  For,  indeed,  fair  mistress,  cry  out  —  if 
such  be  your  pleasure  —  cry  but  once,  and  say  what  ye 
have  seen,  and  the  poor  gentleman  before  you  is  merely 
a  dead  man.  I  cannot  think  ye  would  be  cruel,"  added 
Dick;  and  taking  the  girl's  hand  gently  in  both  of  his, 
he  looked  at  her  with  courteous  admiration. 

**  Are  ye,  then,  a  spy  —  a  Yorkist?"  asked  the  maid. 

''Madam,"  he  replied,  '*!  am  indeed  a  Yorkist,  and, 
in  some  sort,  a  spy.  But  that  which  bringeth  me  into 
this  house,  the  same  which  will  win  for  me  the  pity 
and  interest  of  your  kind  heart,  is  neither  of  York  nor 
Lancaster.  I  will  wholly  put  my  life  in  your  discretion. 
I  am  a  lover,  and  my  name " 

But  here  the  young  lady  clapped  her  hand  suddenly 
upon  Dick's  mouth,  looked  hastily  up  and  down  and 
east  and  west,  and,  seeing  the  coast  clear,  began  to  drag 
the  young  man,  with  great  strength  and  vehemence, 
up-stairs. 

' '  Hush !  "  she  said, ' '  and  come !    Shalt  talk  hereafter. " 

Somewhat  bewildered,  Dick  suffered  himself  to  be 
pulled  up-stairs,  bustled  along  a  corridor,  and  thrust  sud- 
denly into  a  chamber,  lit,  like  so  many  of  the  others,  by 
a  blazing  log  upon  the  hearth. 

"Now,"  said  the  young  lady,  forcing  him  down  upon 
a  stool,  **sit  ye  there  and  attend  my  sovereign  good 
pleasure.  I  have  life  and  death  over  you,  and  1  will  not 
scruple  to  abuse  my  power.  Look  to  yourself;  y'  'ave 
cruelly  mauled  my  arm.  He  knew  not  I  was  a  maid, 
quoth  he !  Had  he  known  I  was  a  maid,  he  had  ta'en 
his  belt  to  me,  forsooth! " 

202 


"IN   MINE  ENEMIES'   HOUSE" 

And  with  these  words,  she  whipped  out  of  the  room 
and  left  Dick  gaping  with  wonder,  and  not  very  sure  if 
he  were  dreaming  or  awake. 

**Ta'en  my  belt  to  her!"  he  repeated.  **Ta'en  my 
belt  to  her!"  And  the  recollection  of  that  evening  in 
the  forest  flowed  back  upon  his  mind,  and  he  once  more 
saw  Matcham's  wincing  body  and  beseeching  eyes. 

And  then  he  was  recalled  to  the  dangers  of  the  present. 
In  the  next  room  he  heard  a  stir,  as  of  a  person  moving; 
then  followed  a  sigh,  which  sounded  strangely  near;  and 
then  the  rustle  of  skirts  and  tap  of  feet  once  more  began. 
As  he  stood  hearkening,  he  saw  the  arras  wave  along 
the  wall;  there  was  the  sound  of  a  door  being  opened, 
the  hangings  divided,  and,  lamp  in  hand,  Joanna  Sedley 
entered  the  apartment. 

She  was  attired  in  costly  stuffs  of  deep  and  warm 
colours,  such  as  befit  the  winter  and  the  snow.  Upon 
her  head,  her  hair  had  been  gathered  together  and  became 
her  as  a  crown.  And  she,  who  had  seemed  so  little  and 
so  awkward  in  the  attire  of  Matcham,  was  now  tall  like 
a  young  willow,  and  swam  across  the  floor  as  though 
she  scorned  the  drudgery  of  walking. 

Without  a  start,  without  a  tremor,  she  raised  her  lamp 
and  looked  at  the  young  monk. 

"What  make  ye  here,  good  brother?"  she  inquired. 
"  Ye  are  doubtless  ill-directed.  Whom  do  ye  require  ?  " 
And  she  set  her  lamp  upon  the  bracket. 

*' Joanna,"  said  Dick;  and  then  his  voice  failed  him. 
"Joanna,"  he  began  again,  "ye  said  ye  loved  me;  and 
the  more  fool  I,  but  I  believed  it!  " 

"Dick!"  she  cried.     "Dick!" 

And  then,  to  the  wonder  of  the  lad,  this  beautiful  and 

ao3 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

tall  young  lady  made  but  one  step  of  it,  and  threw  her 
arms  about  his  neck  and  gave  him  a  hundred  kisses  all 
in  one. 

" Oh,  the  fool  fellow! "  she  cried.  *' Oh,  dear  Dick! 
Oh,  if  ye  could  see  yourself !  Alack !  "  she  added,  paus- 
ing. "  I  have  spoilt  you,  Dick!  I  have  knocked  some 
of  the  paint  off.  But  that  can  be  mended.  What  can- 
not be  mended,  Dick  —  or  I  much  fear  it  cannot!  —  is 
my  marriage  with  Lord  Shoreby." 

'*  Is  it  decided,  then  ?"  asked  the  lad. 

'*  To-morrow,  before  noon,  Dick,  in  the  abbey  church," 
she  answered,  '*John  Matcham  and  Joanna  Sedley  both 
shall  come  to  a  right  miserable  end.  There  is  no  help 
in  tears,  or  I  could  weep  mine  eyes  out.  I  have  not 
spared  myself  to  pray,  but  Heaven  frowns  on  my  peti- 
tion. And,  dear  Dick  —  good  Dick  —  but  that  ye  can 
get  me  forth  of  this  house  before  the  morning,  we  must 
even  kiss  and  say  good-bye.'* 

**Nay,"  said  Dick,  *'not  I;  I  will  never  say  that 
word.  Tis  like  despair;  but  while  there's  life,  Joanna, 
there  is  hope.  Yet  will  I  hope.  Ay,  by  the  mass,  and 
triumph !  Look  ye,  now,  when  ye  were  but  a  name  to 
me,  did  I  not  follow  —  did  I  not  rouse  good  men  —  did 
I  not  stake  my  life  upon  the  quarrel  ?  And  now  that  I 
have  seen  you  for  what  ye  are  —  the  fairest  maid  and 
stateliest  of  England  —  think  ye  I  would  turn  ?  —  if  the 
deep  sea  were  there,  I  would  straight  through  it;  if  the 
way  were  full  of  lions,  I  would  scatter  them  like  mice." 

*' Ay,"  she  said,  dryly,  "ye  make  a  great  ado  about 
a  sky-blue  robe!" 

**  Nay,  Joan,"  protested  Dick,  '*  'tis  not  alone  the  robe. 
But,  lass,  ye  were  disguised.    Here  am  I  disguised ;  and, 

204 


"IN  MINE  ENEMIES'   HOUSE" 

to  the  proof,  do  I  not  cut  a  figure  of  fun  —  a  right  fool's 
figure?" 

"Ay,  Dick,  an'  that  ye  do!"  she  answered,  smiling. 

"Well,  then!"  he  returned,  triumphant.  "So  was 
it  with  you,  poor  Matcham,  in  the  forest.  In  sooth,  ye 
were  a  wench  to  laugh  at.     But  now! " 

So  they  ran  on,  holding  each  other  by  both  hands, 
exchanging  smiles  and  lovely  looks,  and  melting  min- 
utes into  seconds;  and  so  they  might  have  continued 
all  night  long.  But  presently  there  was  a  noise  behind 
them ;  and  they  were  aware  of  the  short  young  lady, 
with  her  finger  on  her  lips. 

"Saints!"  she  cried,  "but  what  a  noise  ye  keep! 
Can  ye  not  speak  in  compass  ?  And  now,  Joanna,  my 
fair  maid  of  the  woods,  what  will  ye  give  your  gossip 
for  bringing  you  your  sweetheart  ?  " 

Joanna  ran  to  her,  by  way  of  answer,  and  embraced 
her  fierily. 

"  And  you,  sir,"  added  the  young  lady,  "  what  do  ye 
give  me  ?  " 

"  Madam,"  said  Dick,  "  I  would  fain  offer  to  pay  you 
in  the  same  money." 

"  Come,  then,"  said  the  lady,  "  it  is  permitted  you." 

But  Dick,  blushing  like  a  peony,  only  kissed  her 
hand. 

"What  ails  ye  at  my  face,  fair  sir?"  she  inquired, 
curtseying  to  the  very  ground;  and  then,  when  Dick 
had  at  length  and  most  tepidly  embraced  her,  "Joanna," 
she  added,  "your  sweetheart  is  very  backward  under 
your  eyes;  but  I  warrant  you,  when  first  we  met,  he 
was  more  ready.  I  am  all  black  and  blue,  wench ;  trust 
me  never,  if  I  be  not  black  and  blue!    And  now,"  she 

305 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

continued,  **have  ye  said  your  sayings?  for  I  must 
speedily  dismiss  the  paladin." 

But  at  this  they  both  cried  out  that  they  had  said 
nothing,  that  the  night  was  still  very  young,  and  that 
they  would  not  be  separated  so  early. 

"  And  supper  ?  "  asked  the  young  lady.  "  Must  we 
not  go  down  to  supper  ?  " 

'*Nay,  to  be  sure! "   cried  Joan.     ''I  had  forgotten." 

"Hide  me,  then,"  said  Dick,  **put  me  behind  the 
arras,  shut  me  in  a  chest,  or  what  ye  will,  so  that  I  may 
be  here  on  your  return.  Indeed,  fair  lady,"  he  added, 
''bear  this  in  mind,  that  we  are  sore  bested,  and  may 
never  look  upon  each  other's  face  from  this  night  for- 
ward till  we  die." 

At  this  the  young  lady  melted;  and  when,  a  little 
after,  the  bell  summoned  Sir  Daniel's  household  to  the 
board,  Dick  was  planted  very  stiffly  against  the  wall,  at 
a  place  where  a  division  in  the  tapestry  permitted  him  to 
breathe  the  more  freely,  and  even  to  see  into  the  room. 

He  had  not  been  long  in  this  position,  when  he  was 
somewhat  strangely  disturbed.  The  silence,  in  that 
upper  storey  of  the  house,  was  only  broken  by  the  flick- 
ering of  the  flames  and  the  hissing  of  a  green  log  in  the 
chimney;  but  presently,  to  Dick's  strained  hearing, 
there  came  the  sound  of  some  one  walking  with  ex- 
treme precaution ;  and  soon  after  the  door  opened,  and 
a  little  black-faced,  dwarfish  fellow,  in  Lord  Shoreby's 
colours,  pushed  first  his  head,  and  then  his  crooked 
body,  into  the  chamber.  His  mouth  was  open,  as 
though  to  hear  the  better;  and  his  eyes,  which  were 
very  bright,  flitted  restlessly  and  swiftly  to  and  fro. 
He  went  round  and  round  the  room,  striking  here  and 

206 


"IN   MINE  ENEMIES'   HOUSE" 

there  upon  the  hangings;  but  Dick,  by  a  miracle,  es- 
caped his  notice.  Then  he  looked  below  the  furniture, 
and  examined  the  lamp;  and,  at  last,  with  an  air  of 
cruel  disappointment,  was  preparing  to  go  away  as 
silently  as  he  had  come,  when  down  he  dropped  upon 
his  knees,  picked  up  something  from  among  the  rushes 
on  the  floor,  examined  it,  and,  with  every  signal  of  de- 
light, concealed  it  in  the  wallet  at  his  belt. 

Dick's  heart  sank,  for  the  object  in  question  was  a 
tassel  from  his  own  girdle ;  and  it  was  plain  to  him  that 
this  dwarfish  spy,  who  took  a  malign  delight  in  his  em- 
ployment, would  lose  no  time  in  bearing  it  to  his  mas- 
ter, the  baron.  He  was  half-tempted  to  throw  aside  the 
arras,  fall  upon  the  scoundrel,  and,  at  the  risk  of  his  life, 
remove  the  telltale  token.  And  while  he  was  still  hes- 
itating, a  new  cause  of  concern  was  added.  A  voice, 
hoarse  and  broken  by  drink,  began  to  be  audible  from 
the  stair;  and  presently  after,  uneven,  wandering,  and 
heavy  footsteps  sounded  without  along  the  passage. 

"What  make  ye  here,  my  merry  men,  among  the 
greenwood  shaws  ?  "  sang  the  voice.  "  What  make  ye 
here  ?  Hey !  sots,  what  make  ye  here  ?  "  it  added,  with  a 
rattle  of  drunken  laughter;  and  then,  once  more  breaking 
into  song: 

"  If  ye  should  drink  the  clary  wine, 
Fat  Friar  John,  ye  friend  o'  mine  — 
If  I  should  eat,  and  ye  should  drink, 
Who  shall  sing  the  mass,  d'ye  think  ?  " 

Lawless,  alas!  rolling  drunk,  was  wandering  the 
house,  seeking  for  a  corner  wherein  to  slumber  off  the 
effect  of  his  potations.  Dick  inwardly  raged.  The 
spy,  at  first  terrified,  had  grown  reassured  as  he  found 

207 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

he  had  to  deal  with  an  intoxicated  man,  and  now,  with 
a  movement  of  cat-like  rapidity,  slipped  from  the  cham- 
ber, and  was  gone  from  Richard's  eyes. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  If  he  lost  touch  of  Lawless 
for  the  night,  he  was  left  impotent,  whether  to  plan  or 
carry  forth  Joanna's  rescue.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
dared  to  address  the  drunken  outlaw,  the  spy  might 
still  be  lingering  within  sight,  and  the  most  fatal  con- 
sequences ensue. 

It  was,  nevertheless,  upon  this  last  hazard  that  Dick 
decided.  Slipping  from  behind  the  tapestry,  he  stood 
ready  in  the  doorway  of  the  chamber,  with  a  warning 
hand  upraised.  Lawless,  flushed  crimson,  with  his  eyes 
injected.  Vacillating  on  his  feet,  drew  still  unsteadily 
nearer.  At  last  he  hazily  caught  sight  of  his  commander, 
and,  in  despite  of  Dick's  imperious  signals,  hailed  him 
instantly  and  loudly  by  his  name. 

Dick  leaped  upon  and  shook  the  drunkard  furiously. 

** Beast!"  he  hissed — "beast  and  no  man!  It  is 
worse  than  treachery  to  be  so  witless.  We  may  all  be 
shent  for  thy  sotting." 

But  Lawless  only  laughed  and  staggered,  and  tried  to 
clap  young  Shelton  on  the  back. 

And  just  then  Dick's  quick  ear  caught  a  rapid  brush- 
ing in  the  arras.  He  leaped  towards  the  sound,  and  the 
next  moment  a  piece  of  the  wall-hanging  had  been  torn 
down,  and  Dick  and  the  spy  were  sprawling  together 
in  its  folds.  Over  and  over  they  rolled,  grappling  for  each 
other's  throat,  and  still  baffled  by  the  arras,  and  still  silent 
in  their  deadly  fury.  But  Dick  was  by  much  the  stronger, 
and  soon  the  spy  lay  prostrate  under  his  knee,  and,  with 
a  single  stroke  of  the  long  poniard,  ceased  to  breathe. 

208 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   DEAD  SPY 

Throughout  this  furious  and  rapid  passage,  Lawless 
had  looked  on  helplessly,  and  even  when  all  was  over, 
and  Dick,  already  re-arisen  to  his  feet,  was  listening 
with  the  most  passionate  attention  to  the  distant  bustle 
in  the  lower  storeys  of  the  house,  the  old  outlaw  was 
still  wavering  on  his  legs  like  a  shrub  in  a  breeze  of 
wind,  and  still  stupidly  staring  on  the  face  of  the  dead 
man. 

**It  is  well,"  said  Dick,  at  length;  ''they  have  not 
heard  us,  praise  the  saints!  But,  now,  what  shall  I  do 
with  this  poor  spy  ?  At  least,  I  will  take  my  tassel 
from  his  wallet." 

So  saying,  Dick  opened  the  wallet;  within  he  found 
a  few  pieces  of  money,  the  tassel,  and  a  letter  addressed 
to  Lord  Wensleydale,  and  sealed  with  my  Lord  Shore- 
by's  seal.  The  name  awoke  Dick's  recollection;  and 
he  instantly  broke  the  wax  and  read  the  contents  of 
the  letter.  It  was  short,  but,  to  Dick's  delight,  it  gave 
evident  proof  that  Lord  Shoreby  was  treacherously  cor- 
responding with  the  House  of  York. 

The  young  fellow  usually  carried  his  ink-horn  and 
implements  about  him,  and  so  now,  bending  a  knee  be- 

309 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

side  the  body  of  the  dead  spy,  he  was  able  to  write 
these  words  upon  a  corner  of  the  paper: 

My  Lord  of  Shoreby,  ye  that  writt  the  letter,  wot  ye  why  your  man 
is  ded  ?    But  let  me  rede  you,  marry  not. 

J  ON  Amend-all. 

He  laid  this  paper  on  the  breast  of  the  corpse;  and 
then  Lawless,  who  had  been  looking  on  upon  these  last 
manoeuvres  with  some  flickering  returns  of  intelligence, 
suddenly  drew  a  black  arrow  from  below  his  robe,  and 
therewith  pinned  the  paper  in  its  place.  The  sight  of 
this  disrespect,  or,  as  it  almost  seemed,  cruelty  to  the 
dead,  drew  a  cry  of  horror  from  young  Shelton ;  but  the 
old  outlaw  only  laughed. 

**Nay,  I  will  have  the  credit  for  mine  order,"  he  hic- 
cupped. ''My  jolly  boys  must  have  the  credit  on't  — 
the  credit,  brother ; "  and  then,  shutting  his  eyes  tight  and 
opening  his  mouth  like  a  precentor,  he  began  to  thunder, 
in  a  formidable  voice : 

"  If  ye  should  drink  the  clary  wine  " — 

**  Peace,  sot! "  cried  Dick,  and  thrust  him  hard  against 
the  wall.  "In  two  words  —  if  so  be  that  such  a  man 
can  understand  me  who  hath  more  wine  than  wit  in 
him  —  in  two  words,  and,  a-Mary's  name,  begone  out 
of  this  house,  where,  if  ye  continue  to  abide,  ye  will 
not  only  hang  yourself,  but  me  also  I  Faith,  then,  up 
foot !  be  yare,  or,  by  the  mass,  I  may  forget  that  I  am 
in  some  sort  your  captain  and  in  some  your  debtor! 
Go!" 

The  sham  monk  was  now,  in  some  degree,  recover- 
ing the  use  of  his  intelligence;  and  the  ring  in  Dick's 

2IO 


THE   DEAD  SPY 

voice,  and  the  glitter  in  Dick's  eye,  stamped  home  the 
meaning  of  his  words. 

"  By  the  mass,"  cried  Lawless,  *'  an  I  be  not  wanted,  I 
can  go ;  "  and  he  turned  tipsily  along  the  corridor  and  pro- 
ceeded to  flounder  down-stairs,  lurching  against  the  wall. 

So  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  Dick  returned  to  his 
hiding-place,  resolutely  fixed  to  see  the  matter  out. 
Wisdom,  indeed,  moved  him  to  be  gone;  but  love  and 
curiosity  were  stronger. 

Time  passed  slowly  for  the  young  man,  bolt  upright 
behind  the  arras.  The  fire  in  the  room  began  to  die 
down,  and  the  lamp  to  burn  low  and  to  smoke.  And 
still  there  was  no  word  of  the  return  of  any  one  to  these 
upper  quarters  of  the  house;  still  the  faint  hum  and  clat- 
ter of  the  supper  party  sounded  from  far  below ;  and 
still,  under  the  thick  fall  of  the  snow,  Shoreby  town  lay 
silent  upon  every  side. 

At  length,  however,  feet  and  voices  began  to  draw 
near  upon  the  stair;  and  presently  after  several  of  Sir 
Daniel's  guests  arrived  upon  the  landing,  and,  turning 
down  the  corridor,  beheld  the  torn  arras  and  the  body 
of  the  spy. 

Some  ran  forward  and  some  back,  and  all  together 
began  to  cry  aloud. 

At  the  sound  of  their  cries,  guests,  men-at-arms, 
ladies,  servants,  and,  in  a  word,  all  the  inhabitants  of 
that  great  house,  came  flying  from  every  direction,  and 
began  to  join  their  voices  to  the  tumult. 

Soon  a  way  was  cleared,  and  Sir  Daniel  came  forth  in 
person,  followed  by  the  bridegroom  of  the  morrow,  my 
Lord  Shoreby. 

"  My  lord,"  said  Sir  Daniel,  "  have  I  not  told  you  of 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

this  knave  Black  Arrow?  To  the  proof,  behold  it! 
There  it  stands,  and,  by  the  rood,  my  gossip,  in  a  man 
of  yours,  or  one  that  stole  your  colours!  " 

''  In  good  sooth,  it  was  a  man  of  mine,"  replied  Lord 
Shoreby,  hanging  back.  'M  would  I  had  more  such. 
He  was  keen  as  a  beagle  and  secret  as  a  mole." 

' '  Ay,  gossip,  truly  ?  "  asked  Sir  Daniel,  keenly.  '  *  And 
what  came  he  smelling  up  so  many  stairs  in  my  poor 
mansion  }    But  he  will  smell  no  more." 

**  An  't  please  you,  Sir  Daniel,"  said  one,  '*  here  is  a 
paper  written  upon  with  some  matter,  pinned  upon  his 
breast" 

"Give  it  me,  arrow  and  all,"  said  the  knight.  And 
when  he  had  taken  into  his  hand  the  shaft,  he  contin- 
ued for  some  time  to  gaze  upon  it  in  a  sullen  musing. 
''Ay,"  he  said,  addressing  Lord  Shoreby,  ''here  is  a 
hate  that  followeth  hard  and  close  upon  my  heels.  This 
black  stick,  or  its  just  likeness,  shall  yet  bring  me  down. 
And,  gossip,  suffer  a  plain  knight  to  counsel  you;  and 
if  these  hounds  begin  to  wind  you,  flee!  'Tis  like  a 
sickness — it  still  hangeth,  hangeth  upon  the  limbs. 
But  let  us  see  what  they  have  written.  It  is  as  I  thought, 
my  lord ;  y'  are  marked,  like  an  old  oak,  by  the  wood- 
man; to-morrow  or  next  day,  by  will  come  the  axe. 
But  what  wrote  ye  in  a  letter  ?  " 

Lord  Shoreby  snatched  the  paper  from  the  arrow, 
read  it,  crumpled  it  between  his  hands,  and,  overcom- 
ing the  reluctance  which  had  hitherto  withheld  him 
from  approaching,  threw  himself  on  his  knees  beside 
the  body  and  eagerly  groped  in  the  wallet. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  somewhat  unsettled  counte- 
nance. 

212 


THE   DEAD  SPY 

*' Gossip,"  he  said,  "I  have  indeed  lost  a  letter  here 
that  much  imported;  and  could  1  lay  my  hand  upon  the 
knave  that  took  it,  he  should  incontinently  grace  a  hal- 
ter. But  let  us,  first  of  all,  secure  the  issues  of  the  house. 
Here  is  enough  harm  already,  by  St.  George! " 

Sentinels  were  posted  close  around  the  house  and 
garden ;  a  sentinel  on  every  landing  of  the  stair,  a  whole 
troop  in  the  main  entrance-hall;  and  yet  another  about 
the  bonfire  in  the  shed.  Sir  Daniel's  followers  were 
supplemented  by  Lord  Shoreby's;  there  was  thus  no 
lack  of  men  or  weapons  to  make  the  house  secure,  or 
to  entrap  a  lurking  enemy,  should  one  be  there. 

Meanwhile,  the  body  of  the  spy  was  carried  out 
through  the  falling  snow  and  deposited  in  the  abbey 
church. 

It  was  not  until  these  dispositions  had  been  taken, 
and  all  had  returned  to  a  decorous  silence,  that  the  two 
girls  drew  Richard  Shelton  from  his  place  of  conceal- 
ment, and  made  a  full  report  to  him  of  what  had  passed. 
He,  upon  his  side,  recounted  the  visit  of  the  spy,  his 
dangerous  discovery,  and  speedy  end. 

Joanna  leaned  back  very  faint  against  the  curtained 
wall. 

" It  will  avail  but  little,"  she  said.  "I  shall  be  wed 
to-morrow,  in  the  morning,  after  all  I " 

*'What!"  cried  her  friend.  *'And  here  is  our  pa- 
ladin that  driveth  lions  like  mice !  Ye  have  little  faith, 
of  a  surety.  But  come,  friend  lion-driver,  give  us  some 
comfort;  speak,  and  let  us  hear  bold  counsels." 

Dick  was  confounded  to  be  thus  outfaced  with  his 
own  exaggerated  words;  but  though  he  coloured,  he 
still  spoke  stoutly. 

ai3 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

*' Truly,"  said  he,  '*we  are  in  straits.  Yet,  could  1 
but  win  out  of  this  house  for  half  an  hour,  I  do  honestly 
tell  myself  that  all  might  still  go  well ;  and  for  the  mar- 
riage, it  should  be  prevented." 

"And  for  the  lions,"  mimicked  the  girl,  "they  shall 
be  driven." 

*  *  I  crave  your  excuse, "  said  Dick.  '  *  I  speak  not  now 
in  any  boasting  humour,  but  rather  as  one  inquiring 
after  help  or  counsel ;  for  if  I  get  not  forth  of  this  house 
and  through  these  sentinels,  I  can  do  less  than  naught. 
Take  me,  I  pray  you,  rightly." 

"Why  said  ye  he  was  rustic,  Joan?"  the  girl  in- 
quired. "I  warrant  he  hath  a  tongue  in  his  head ;  ready, 
soft,  and  bold  is  his  speech  at  pleasure.  What  would 
ye  more?" 

"Nay,"  sighed  Joanna,  with  a  smile,  "they  have 
changed  me  my  friend  Dick,  'tis  sure  enough.  When  I 
beheld  him,  he  was  rough  indeed.  But  it  matters  little ; 
there  is  no  help  for  my  hard  case,  and  I  must  still  be 
Lady  Shoreby ! " 

"Nay,  then,"  said  Dick,  "I  will  even  make  the  ad- 
venture. A  friar  is  not  much  regarded ;  and  if  I  found 
a  good  fairy  to  lead  me  up,  I  may  find  another  belike 
to  carry  me  down.  How  call  they  the  name  of  this 
spy?" 

"Rutter,"  said  the  young  lady;  "and  an  excellent 
good  name  to  call  him  by.  But  how  mean  ye,  lion- 
driver  ?    What  is  in  your  mind  to  do  ?  " 

"To  offer  boldly  to  go  forth,"  returned  Dick;  "and 
if  any  stop  me,  to  keep  an  unchanged  countenance, 
and  say  I  go  to  pray  for  Rutter.  They  will  be  praying 
over  his  poor  clay  even  now." 

214 


THE  DEAD  SPY 

'*The  device  is  somewhat  simple/'  replied  the  girl, 
"yet  it  may  hold." 

"Nay,"  said  young  Shelton,  "it  is  no  device,  but 
mere  boldness,  which  serveth  often  better  in  great 
straits." 

"Ye  say  true,"  she  said.  "Well,  go,  a-Mary's  name, 
and  may  Heaven  speed  you  I  Ye  leave  here  a  poor  maid 
that  loves  you  entirely,  and  another  that  is  most  heartily 
your  friend.  Be  wary,  for  their  sakes,  and  make  not 
shipwreck  of  your  safety." 

"Ay,"  added  Joanna,  "go,  Dick.  Ye  run  no  more 
peril,  whether  ye  go  or  stay.  Go;  ye  take  my  heart 
with  you;  the  saints  defend  you!" 

Dick  passed  the  first  sentry  with  so  assured  a  coun- 
tenance that  the  fellow  merely  figeted  and  stared;  but 
at  the  second  landing  the  man  carried  his  spear  across 
and  bade  him  name  his  business. 

""Pax  vobiscum/'  answered  Dick.  "I  go  to  pray 
over  the  body  of  this  poor  Rutter." 

"Like  enough,"  returned  the  sentry;  "but  to  go 
alone  is  not  permitted  you."  He  leaned  over  the  oaken 
balusters  and  whistled  shrill.  *  *  One  cometh  I "  he  cried ; 
and  then  motioned  Dick  to  pass. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stair  he  found  the  guard  afoot  and 
awaiting  his  arrival ;  and  when  he  had  once  more  re- 
peated his  story,  the  commander  of  the  post  ordered 
four  men  out  to  accompany  him  to  the  church. 

"Let  him  not  slip,  my  lads,"  he  said.  "Bring  him 
to  Sir  Oliver,  on  your  lives!" 

The  door  was  then  opened;  one  of  the  men  took 
Dick  by  either  arm,  another  marched  ahead  with  a 
link,  and  the  fourth,  with  bent  bow  and  the  arrow 

ai5 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

on  the  string,  brought  up  the  rear.  In  this  order 
they  proceeded  through  the  garden,  under  the  thick 
darkness  of  the  night  and  the  scattering  snow,  and 
drew  near  to  the  dimly-illuminated  windows  of  the 
abbey  church. 

At  the  western  portal  a  picket  of  archers  stood,  tak- 
ing what  shelter  they  could  find  in  the  hollow  of  the 
arched  doorways,  and  all  powdered  with  the  snow;  and 
it  was  not  until  Dick's  conductors  had  exchanged  a 
word  with  these,  that  they  were  suffered  to  pass  forth 
and  enter  the  nave  of  the  sacred  edifice. 

The  church  was  doubtfully  lighted  by  the  tapers  upon 
the  great  altar,  and  by  a  lamp  or  two  that  swung  from 
the  arched  roof  before  the  private  chapels  of  illustrious 
families.  In  the  midst  of  the  choir  the  dead  spy  lay,  his 
limbs  piously  composed,  upon  a  bier. 

A  hurried  mutter  of  prayer  sounded  along  the  arches; 
cowled  figures  knelt  in  the  stalls  of  the  choir,  and  on  the 
steps  of  the  high  altar  a  priest  in  pontifical  vestments 
celebrated  mass. 

Upon  this  fresh  entrance,  one  of  the  cowled  figures 
arose,  and,  coming  down  the  steps  which  elevated  the 
level  of  the  choir  above  that  of  the  nave,  demanded 
from  the  leader  of  the  four  men  what  business  brought 
him  to  the  church.  Out  of  respect  for  the  service  and 
the  dead,  they  spoke  in  guarded  tones ;  but  the  echoes 
of  that  huge,  empty  building  caught  up  their  words, 
and  hollowly  repeated  and  repeated  them  along  the 
aisles. 

''A  monk!"  returned  Sir  Oliver  (for  he  it  was),  when 
he  had  heard  the  report  of  the  archer.  "  My  brother,  I 
looked  not  for  your  coming,"  he  added,  turning  to 

216 


THE   DEAD  SPY 

young  Shelton.  *'In  all  civility,  who  are  ye?  and  at 
whose  instance  do  ye  join  your  supplications  to  ours  ?" 

Dick,  keeping  his  cowl  about  his  face,  signed  to  Sir 
Oliver  to  move  a  pace  or  two  aside  from  the  archers; 
and,  so  soon  as  the  priest  had  done  so,  "I  cannot  hope 
to  deceive  you,  sin"  he  said.  *'My  life  is  in  your 
hands." 

Sir  Oliver  violently  started;  his  stout  cheeks  grew 
pale,  and  for  a  space  he  was  silent. 

** Richard,"  he  said,  "what  brings  you  here,  I  know 
not;  but  I  much  misdoubt  it  to  be  evil.  Nevertheless, 
for  the  kindness  that  was,  I  would  not  willingly  deliver 
you  to  harm.  Ye  shall  sit  all  night  beside  me  in  the 
stalls :  ye  shall  sit  there  till  my  Lord  of  Shoreby  be  mar- 
ried, and  the  party  gone  safe  home;  and  if  all  goeth  well, 
and  ye  have  planned  no  evil,  in  the  end  ye  shall  go 
whither  ye  will.  But  if  your  purpose  be  bloody,  it  shall 
return  upon  your  head.     Amen  I " 

And  the  priest  devoutly  crossed  himself,  and  turned 
and  louted  to  the  altar. 

With  that,  he  spoke  a  few  words  more  to  the  soldiers, 
and  taking  Dick  by  the  hand,  led  him  up  to  the  choir, 
and  placed  him  in  the  stall  beside  his  own,  where,  for 
mere  decency,  the  lad  had  instantly  to  kneel  and  appear 
to  be  busy  with  his  devotions. 

His  mind  and  his  eyes,  however,  were  continually 
wandering.  Three  of  the  soldiers,  he  observed,  instead 
of  returning  to  the  house,  had  got  them  quietly  into  a 
point  of  vantage  in  the  aisle;  and  he  could  not  doubt 
that  they  had  done  so  by  Sir  Oliver's  command.  Here, 
then,  he  was  trapped.  Here  he  must  spend  the  night 
in  the  ghostly  glimmer  and  shadow  of  the  church,  and 

217 


THE  BLACK  akROW 

looking  on  the  pale  face  of  him  he  slew ;  and  here,  in  the 
morning,  he  must  see  his  sweetheart  married  to  another 
man  before  his  eyes. 

But,  for  all  that,  he  obtained  a  command  upon  his 
mind,  and  built  himself  up  in  patience  to  await  the 
issue. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  THE  ABBEY   CHURCH 

In  Shoreby  Abbey  Church  the  prayers  were  kept  up 
all  night  without  cessation,  now  with  the  singing  of 
psalms,  now  with  a  note  or  two  upon  the  bell. 

Rutter,  the  spy,  was  nobly  waked.  There  he  lay, 
meanwhile,  as  they  had  arranged  him,  his  dead  hands 
crossed  upon  his  bosom,  his  dead  eyes  staring  on  the 
roof;  and  hard  by,  in  the  stall,  the  lad  who  had  slain 
him  waited,  in  sore  disquietude,  the  coming  of  the 
morning. 

Once  only,  in  the  course  of  the  hours,  Sir  Oliver 
leaned  across  to  his  captive. 

*' Richard,"  he  whispered,  '*my  son,  if  ye  mean  me 
evil,  I  will  certify,  on  my  soul's  welfare,  ye  design  upon 
an  innocent  man.  Sinful  in  the  eye  of  Heaven  I  do  de- 
clare myself;  but  sinful  as  against  you  I  am  not,  neither 
have  been  ever." 

"My  father,"  returned  Dick,  in  the  same  tone  of 
voice,  *' trust  me,  I  design  nothing;  but  as  for  your  in- 
nocence, I  may  not  forget  that  ye  cleared  yourself  but 
lamely." 

**  A  man  may  be  innocently  guilty,"  replied  the  priest. 
"He  may  be  set  blindfolded  upon  a  mission,  ignorant 
of  its  true  scope.    So  it  was  with  me.    I  did  decoy  your 

219 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

father  to  his  death ;  but  as  Heaven  sees  us  in  this  sacred 
place,  I  knew  not  what  I  did." 

'*It  may  be,"  returned  Dick.  *'But  see  what  a 
strange  web  ye  have  woven,  that  I  should  be,  at  this 
hour,  at  once  your  prisoner  and  your  judge;  that  ye 
should  both  threaten  my  days  and  deprecate  my  anger. 
Methinks,  if  ye  had  been  all  your  life  a  true  man  and 
good  priest,  ye  would  neither  thus  fear  nor  thus  detest 
me.  And  now  to  your  prayers.  I  do  obey  you,  since 
needs  must;  but  I  will  not  be  burthened  with  your 
company." 

The  priest  uttered  a  sigh  so  heavy  that  it  had  almost 
touched  the  lad  into  some  sentiment  of  pity,  and  he 
bowed  his  head  upon  his  hands  like  a  man  borne  down 
below  a  weight  of  care.  He  joined  no  longer  in  the 
psalms;  but  Dick  could  hear  the  beads  rattle  through 
his  fingers  and  the  prayers  a-pattering  between  his 
teeth. 

Yet  a  little,  and  the  grey  of  the  morning  began  to 
struggle  through  the  painted  casements  of  the  church, 
and  to  put  to  shame  the  glimmer  of  the  tapers.  The 
light  slowly  broadened  and  brightened,  and  presently 
through  the  south-eastern  clerestories  a  flush  of  rosy 
sunlight  flickered  on  the  walls.  The  storm  was  over; 
the  great  clouds  had  disburdened  their  snow  and  fled 
farther  on,  and  the  new  day  was  breaking  on  a  merry 
winter  landscape  sheathed  in  white. 

A  bustle  of  church  officers  followed;  the  bier  was 
carried  forth  to  the  deadhouse,  and  the  stains  of  blood 
were  cleansed  from  off  the  tiles,  that  no  such  ill-omened 
spectacle  should  disgrace  the  marriage  of  Lord  Shoreby. 
At  the  same  time,  the  very  ecclesiastics  who  had  been 

220 


IN   THE   ABBEY  CHURCH 

SO  dismally  engaged  all  night  began  to  put  on  morning 
faces,  to  do  honour  to  the  merrier  ceremony  which  was 
about  to  follow.  And  further  to  announce  the  coming 
of  the  day,  the  pious  of  the  town  began  to  assemble 
and  fall  to  prayer  before  their  favourite  shrines,  or  wait 
their  turn  at  the  confessionals. 

Favoured  by  this  stir,  it  was  of  course  easily  possible 
for  any  man  to  avoid  the  vigilance  of  Sir  Daniel's  sen- 
tries at  the  door;  and  presently  Dick,  looking  about 
him  wearily,  caught  the  eye  of  no  less  a  person  than 
Will  Lawless,  still  in  his  monk's  habit. 

The  outlaw,  at  the  same  moment,  recognised  his 
leader,  and  privily  signed  to  him  with  hand  and  eye. 

Now,  Dick  was  far  from  having  forgiven  the  old 
rogue  his  most  untimely  drunkenness,  but  he  had  no 
desire  to  involve  him  in  his  own  predicament;  and  he 
signalled  back  to  him,  as  plain  as  he  was  able,  to  be- 
gone. 

Lawless,  as  though  he  had  understood,  disappeared 
at  once  behind  a  pillar,  and  Dick  breathed  again. 

What,  then,  was  his  dismay  to  feel  himself  plucked 
by  the  sleeve  and  to  find  the  old  robber  installed  beside 
him,  upon  the  next  seat,  and,  to  all  appearance,  plunged 
in  his  devotions! 

Instantly  Sir  Oliver  arose  from  his  place,  and,  gliding 
behind  the  stalls,  made  for  the  soldiers  in  the  aisle.  If 
the  priest's  suspicions  had  been  so  lightly  wakened,  the 
harm  was  already  done,  and  Lawless  a  prisoner  in  the 
church. 

"Move  not,"  whispered  Dick.  *'We  are  in  the 
plaguiest  pass,  thanks,  before  all  things,  to  thy  swin- 
ishness of  yestereven.     When  ye  saw  me  here,  so 

321 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

Strangely  seated  where  I  have  neither  right  nor  interest, 
what  a  murrain !  could  ye  not  smell  harm  and  get  ye 
gone  from  evil  ?  " 

"Nay,"  returned  Lawless,  "I  thought  ye  had  heard 
from  Ellis,  and  were  here  on  duty." 

" Ellis! "  echoed  Dick.    " Is  Ellis,  then,  returned  ? " 

*'For  sure,"  replied  the  outlaw.  "He  came  last 
night,  and  belted  me  sore  for  being  in  wine  —  so  there 
ye  are  avenged,  my  master.  A  furious  man  is  Ellis 
Duckworth!  He  hath  ridden  me  hot-spur  from  Craven 
to  prevent  this  marriage;  and,  Master  Dick,  ye  know 
the  way  of  him  —  do  so  he  will ! " 

"Nay,  then,"  returned  Dick,  with  composure,  "you 
and  I,  my  poor  brother,  are  dead  men ;  for  I  sit  here  a 
prisoner  upon  suspicion,  and  my  neck  was  to  answer 
for  this  very  marriage  that  he  purposeth  to  mar.  I  had  a 
fair  choice,  by  the  rood !  to  lose  my  sweetheart  or  else  lose 
my  life !    Well,  the  cast  is  thrown  —  it  is  to  be  my  life." 

"By  the  mass,"  cried  Lawless,  half  arising,  "I  am 
gone!" 

But  Dick  had  his  hand  at  once  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Friend  Lawless,  sit  ye  still,"  he  said.  "  An  ye  have 
eyes,  look  yonder  at  the  corner  by  the  chancel  arch ;  see 
ye  not  that,  even  upon  the  motion  of  your  rising,  yon 
armed  men  are  up  and  ready  to  intercept  you  ?  Yield 
ye,  friend.  Ye  were  bold  aboard  ship,  when  ye  thought 
to  die  a  sea-death ;  be  bold  again,  now  that  y'  are  to  die 
presently  upon  the  gallows." 

"Master  Dick,"  gasped  Lawless,  "the  thing  hath 
come  upon  me  somewhat  of  the  suddenest.  But  give 
me  a  moment  till  I  fetch  my  breath  again ;  and,  by  the 
mass,  1  will  be  as  stout-hearted  as  yourself." 


IN  THE  ABBEY   CHURCH 

*'  Here  is  my  bold  fellow ! "  returned  Dick.  "  And  yet, 
Lawless,  it  goes  hard  against  the  grain  with  me  to  die; 
but  where  whining  mendeth  nothing,  wherefore  whine?" 

"Nay,  that  indeed!"  chimed  Lawless.  "And  a  fig 
for  death,  at  worst!  It  has  to  be  done,  my  master,  soon 
or  late.  And  hanging  in  a  good  quarrel  is  an  easy  death, 
they  say,  though  I  could  never  hear  of  any  that  came 
back  to  say  so." 

And  so  saying,  the  stout  old  rascal  leaned  back  in  his 
stall,  folded  his  arms,  and  began  to  look  about  him  with 
the  greatest  air  of  insolence  and  unconcern. 

"  And  for  the  matter  of  that,"  Dick  added,  "  it  is  yet 
our  best  chance  to  keep  quiet.  We  wot  not  yet  what 
Duckworth  purposes;  and  when  all  is  said,  and  if  the 
worst  befall,  we  may  yet  clear  our  feet  of  it." 

Now  that  they  ceased  talking,  they  were  aware  of  a 
very  distant  and  thin  strain  of  mirthful  music  which 
steadily  drew  nearer,  louder,  and  merrier.  The  bells  in 
the  tower  began  to  break  forth  into  a  doubling  peal,  and 
a  greater  and  greater  concourse  of  people  to  crowd  into 
the  church,  shuffling  the  snow  from  off  their  feet,  and 
clapping  and  blowing  in  their  hands.  The  western 
door  was  flung  wide  open,  showing  a  glimpse  of  sunlit, 
snowy  street,  and  admitting  in  a  great  gust  the  shrewd 
air  of  the  morning;  and  in  short,  it  became  plain  by 
every  sign  that  Lord  Shoreby  desired  to  be  married  very 
early  in  the  day,  and  that  the  wedding-train  was  draw- 
ing near. 

Some  of  Lord  Shoreby's  men  now  cleared  a  passage 
down  the  middle  aisle,  forcing  the  people  back  with 
lance-stocks;  and  just  then,  outside  the  portal,  the  secu- 
lar musicians  could  be  descried  drawing  near  over  the 

223 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

frozen  snow,  the  fifers  and  trumpeters  scarlet  in  the  face 
with  lusty  blowing,  the  drummers  and  the  cymbalists 
beating  as  for  a  wager. 

These,  as  they  drew  near  the  door  of  the  sacred  build- 
ing, filed  off  on  either  side,  and,  marking  time  to  their 
own  vigorous  music,  stood  stamping  in  the  snow.  As 
they  thus  opened  their  ranks,  the  leaders  of  this  noble 
bridal  train  appeared  behind  and  between  them;  and 
such  was  the  variety  and  gaiety  of  their  attire,  such  the 
display  of  silks  and  velvet,  fur  and  satin,  embroidery  and 
lace,  that  the  procession  showed  forth  upon  the  snow  like 
a  flower-bed  in  a  path  or  a  painted  window  in  a  wall. 

First  came  the  bride,  a  sorry  sight,  as  pale  as  winter, 
clinging  to  Sir  Daniel's  arm,  and  attended,  as  brides- 
maid, by  the  short  young  lady  who  had  befriended  Dick 
the  night  before.  Close  behind,  in  the  most  radiant 
toilet,  followed  the  bridegroom,  halting  on  a  gouty  foot; 
and  as  he  passed  the  threshold  of  the  sacred  building 
and  doffed  his  hat,  his  bald  head  was  seen  to  be  rosy 
with  emotion. 

And  now  came  the  hour  of  Ellis  Duckworth. 

Dick,  who  sat  stunned  among  contrary  emotions, 
grasping  the  desk  in  front  of  him,  beheld  a  movement 
in  the  crowd,  people  jostling  backward,  and  eyes  and 
arms  uplifted.  Following  these  signs,  he  beheld  three 
or  four  men  with  bent  bows  leaning  from  the  clerestory 
gallery.  At  the  same  instant  they  delivered  their  dis- 
charge, and  before  the  clamour  and  cries  of  the  as- 
tounded populace  had  time  to  swell  fully  upon  the  ear, 
they  had  flitted  from  their  perch  and  disappeared. 

The  nave  was  full  of  swaying  heads  and  voices 
screaming ;  the  ecclesiastics  thronged  in  terror  from  their 

224 


IN   THE  ABBEY  CHURCH 

places ;  the  music  ceased,  and  though  the  bells  overhead 
continued  for  some  seconds  to  clang  upon  the  air,  some 
wind  of  the  disaster  seemed  to  find  its  way  at  last  even 
to  the  chamber  where  the  ringers  were  leaping  on  their 
ropes,  and  they  also  desisted  from  their  merry  labours. 

Right  in  the  midst  of  the  nave  the  bridegroom  lay 
stone-dead,  pierced  by  two  black  arrows.  The  bride 
had  fainted.  Sir  Daniel  stood,  towering  above  the 
crowd  in  his  surprise  and  anger,  a  clothyard  shaft  quiv- 
ering in  his  left  forearm,  and  his  face  streaming  blood 
from  another  which  had  grazed  his  brow. 

Long  before  any  search  could  be  made  for  them,  the 
authors  of  this  tragic  interruption  had  clattered  down  a 
turnpike  stair  and  decamped  by  a  postern  door. 

But  Dick  and  Lawless  still  remained  in  pawn ;  they 
had,  indeed,  arisen  on  the  first  alarm,  and  pushed  man- 
fully to  gain  the  door;  but  what  with  the  narrowness 
of  the  stalls  and  the  crowding  of  terrified  priests  and 
choristers,  the  attempt  had  been  in  vain,  and  they  had 
stoically  resumed  their  places. 

And  now,  pale  with  horror.  Sir  Oliver  rose  to  his  feet  and 
called  upon  Sir  Daniel,  pointing  with  one  hand  to  Dick. 

'*Here,"  he  cried,  "is  Richard  Shelton  —  alas  the 
hour !  —  blood  guilty !  Seize  him ! — bid  him  be  seized ! 
For  all  our  lives'  sakes,  take  him  and  bind  him  surely  I 
He  hath  sworn  our  fall." 

Sir  Daniel  was  blinded  by  anger — blinded  by  the  hot 
blood  that  still  streamed  across  his  face. 

*'  Where  ?  "  he  bellowed.  "  Hale  him  forth !  By  the 
cross  of  Holy  wood,  but  he  shall  rue  this  hour!  " 

The  crowd  fell  back,  and  a  party  of  archers  invaded 
the  choir,  laid  rough  hands  on  Dick,  dragged  him  head- 

225 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

foremost  from  the  stall,  and  thrust  him  by  the  shoulders 
down  the  chancel  steps.  Lawless,  on  his  part,  sat  as 
still  as  a  mouse. 

Sir  Daniel,  brushing  the  blood  out  of  his  eyes,  stared 
blinkingly  upon  his  captive. 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  **  treacherous  and  insolent,  I  have  thee 
fast;  and  by  all  potent  oaths,  for  every  drop  of  blood 
that  now  trickles  in  mine  eyes,  I  will  wring  a  groan 
out  of  thy  carcase.  Away  with  him!"  he  added. 
**  Here  is  no  place!  Off  with  him  to  my  house.  I  will 
number  every  joint  of  thy  body  with  a  torture." 

But  Dick,  putting  off  his  captors,  uplifted  his  voice. 

' '  Sanctuary ! "  he  shouted.  ' '  Sanctuary !  Ho,  there, 
my  fathers !    They  would  drag  me  from  the  church ! " 

**From  the  church  thou  hast  defiled  with  murder, 
boy,"  added  a  tall  man,  magnificently  dressed. 

*  *  On  what  probation  ?  "  cried  Dick.  ' '  They  do  accuse 
me,  indeed,  of  some  complicity,  but  have  not  proved 
one  tittle.  I  was,  in  truth,  a  suitor  for  this  damsel's 
hand ;  and  she,  I  will  be  bold  to  say  it,  repaid  my  suit 
with  favour.  But  what  then  ?  To  love  a  maid  is  no  of- 
fence, 1  trow  —  nay,  nor  to  gain  her  love.  In  all  else,  I 
stand  here  free  from  guiltiness." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  approval  among  the  bystand- 
ers, so  boldly  Dick  declared  his  innocence;  but  at  the 
same  time  a  throng  of  accusers  arose  upon  the  other 
side,  crying  how  he  had  been  found  last  night  in  Sir 
Daniel's  house,  how  he  wore  a  sacrilegious  disguise; 
and  in  the  midst  of  the  babel.  Sir  Oliver  indicated  Law- 
less, both  by  voice  and  gesture,  as  accomplice  to  the 
fact.  He,  in  his  turn,  was  dragged  from  his  seat  and 
set  beside  his  leader.     The  feelings  of  the  crowd  rose 

226 


IN   THE  ABBEY  CHURCH 

high  on  either  side,  and  while  some  dragged  the  pris- 
oners to  and  fro  to  favour  their  escape,  others  cursed  and 
struck  them  with  their  fists.  Dick's  ears  rang  and  his 
brain  swam  dizzily,  like  a  man  struggling  in  the  eddies 
of  a  furious  river. 

But  the  tall  man  who  had  already  answered  Dick,  by 
a  prodigious  exercise  of  voice  restored  silence  and  order 
in  the  mob. 

"Search  them,"  he  said,  "for  arms.  We  may  so 
judge  of  their  intentions." 

Upon  Dick  they  found  no  weapon  but  his  poniard, 
and  this  told  in  his  favour,  until  one  man  officiously 
drew  it  from  its  sheath,  and  found  it  still  uncleansed  of 
the  blood  of  Rutter.  At  this  there  was  a  great  shout 
among  Sir  Daniel's  followers,  which  the  tall  man  sup- 
pressed by  a  gesture  and  an  imperious  glance.  But 
when  it  came  to  the  turn  of  Lawless,  there  was  found 
under  his  gown  a  sheaf  of  arrows  identical  with  those 
that  had  been  shot. 

'*  How  say  ye  now  ?  "  asked  the  tall  man,  frowningly, 
of  Dick. 

"Sir,"  replied  Dick,  " I  am  here  in  sanctuary,  is  it  not 
so  ?  Well,  sir,  I  see  by  your  bearing  that  ye  are  high  in 
station,  and  I  read  in  your  countenance  the  marks  of 
piety  and  justice.  To  you,  then,  I  will  yield  me  pris- 
oner, and  that  blithely,  foregoing  the  advantage  of  this 
holy  place.  But  rather  than  to  be  yielded  into  the  dis- 
cretion of  that  man  —  whom  I  do  here  accuse  with  a 
loud  voice  to  be  the  murderer  of  my  natural  father  and 
the  unjust  retainer  of  my  lands  and  revenues  —  rather 
than  that,  I  would  beseech  you,  under  favour,  with  your 
own  gentle  hand,  to  despatch  me  on  the  spot.     Your 

227 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

own  ears  have  heard  him,  how  before  that  I  was  proven 
guilty  he  did  threaten  me  with  torments.  It  standeth  not 
with  your  own  honour  to  deliver  me  to  my  sworn  enemy 
and  old  oppressor,  but  to  try  me  fairly  by  the  way  of  law, 
and,  if  that  I  be  guilty  indeed,  to  slay  me  mercifully." 

' '  My  lord, "  cried  Sir  Daniel, ' '  ye  will  not  hearken  to  this 
wolf  .^  His  bloody  dagger  reeks  him  the  lie  into  his  face. " 

*'Nay,  but  suffer  me,  good  knight,"  returned  the  tall 
stranger;  "your  own  vehemence  doth  somewhat  tell 
against  yourself" 

And  here  the  bride,  who  had  come  to  herself  some 
minutes  past  and  looked  wildly  on  upon  this  scene, 
broke  loose  from  those  that  held  her,  and  fell  upon  her 
knees  before  the  last  speaker. 

''My  Lord  of  Risingham,"  she  cried,  *'hear  me,  in 
justice.  I  am  here  in  this  man's  custody  by  mere  force, 
reft  from  mine  own  people.  Since  that  day  I  had  never 
pity,  countenance,  nor  comfort  from  the  face  of  man  — 
but  from  him  only — Richard  Shelton — whom  they  now 
accuse  and  labour  to  undo.  My  lord,  if  he  was  yester- 
night in  Sir  Daniel's  mansion,  it  was  I  that  brought  him 
there;  he  came  but  at  my  prayer,  and  thought  to  do  no 
hurt.  While  yet  Sir  Daniel  was  a  good  lord  to  him,  he 
fought  with  them  of  the  Black  Arrow  loyally ;  but  when 
his  foul  guardian  sought  his  life  by  practices,  and  he  fled 
by  night,  for  his  soul's  sake,  out  of  that  bloody  house, 
whither  was  he  to  turn  —  he,  helpless  and  penniless.^ 
Or  if  he  be  fallen  among  ill  company,  whom  should  ye 
blame  —  the  lad  that  was  unjustly  handled,  or  the  guar- 
dian that  did  abuse  his  trust  ?  " 

And  then  the  short  young  lady  fell  on  her  knees  by 
Joanna's  side. 

228 


IN   THE   ABBEY  CHURCH 

"And  I,  my  good  lord  and  natural  uncle,"  she  added, 
**  I  can  bear  testimony,  on  my  conscience  and  before  the 
face  of  all,  that  what  this  maiden  saith  is  true.  It  was 
I,  unworthy,  that  did  lead  the  young  man  in." 

Earl  Risingham  had  heard  in  silence,  and  when  the 
voices  ceased,  he  still  stood  silent  for  a  space.  Then  he 
gave  Joanna  his  hand  to  arise,  though  it  was  to  be  ob- 
served that  he  did  not  offer  the  like  courtesy  to  her  who 
had  called  herself  his  niece. 

"Sir  Daniel,"  he  said,  "  here  is  a  right  intricate  affair, 
the  which,  with  your  good  leave,  it  shall  be  mine  to  ex- 
amine and  adjust.  Content  ye,  then ;  your  business  is 
in  careful  hands ;  justice  shall  be  done  you ;  and  in  the 
meanwhile,  get  ye  incontinently  home,  and  have  your 
hurts  attended.  The  air  is  shrewd,  and  I  would  not  ye 
took  cold  upon  these  scratches." 

He  made  a  sign  with  his  hand;  it  was  passed  down 
the  nave  by  obsequious  servants,  who  waited  there  upon 
his  smallest  gesture.  Instantly,  without  the  church,  a 
tucket  sounded  shrill,  and  through  the  open  portal  arch- 
ers and  men-at-arms,  uniformly  arrayed  in  the  colours 
and  wearing  the  badge  of  Lord  Risingham,  began  to 
file  into  the  church,  took  Dick  and  Lawless  from  those 
who  still  detained  them,  and,  closing  their  files  about 
the  prisoners,  marched  forth  again  and  disappeared. 
.  As  they  were  passing,  Joanna  held  both  her  hands  to 
Dick  and  cried  him  her  farewell;  and  the  bridesmaid, 
nothing  downcast  by  her  uncle's  evident  displeasure, 
blew  him  a  kiss,  with  a  **  Keep  your  heart  up,  lion- 
driver!  "  that  for  the  first  time  since  the  accident  called 
up  a  smile  to  the  faces  of  the  crowd. 


339 


CHAPTER  V 

EARL   RISINGHAM 

Earl  Risingham,  although  by  far  the  most  important 
person  then  in  Shoreby,  was  poorly  lodged  in  the  house 
of  a  private  gentleman  upon  the  extreme  outskirts  of 
the  town.  Nothing  but  the  armed  men  at  the  doors, 
and  the  mounted  messengers  that  kept  arriving  and  de- 
parting, announced  the  temporary  residence  of  a  great 
lord. 

Thus  it  was  that,  from  lack  of  space,  Dick  and  Law- 
less were  clapped  into  the  same  apartment. 

**  Well  spoken,  Master  Richard,"  said  the  outlaw ;  "  it 
was  excellently  well  spoken,  and,  for  my  part,  I  thank 
you  cordially.  Here  we  are  in  good  hands;  we  shall 
be  justly  tried,  and,  some  time  this  evening,  decently 
hanged  on  the  same  tree." 

**  Indeed,  my  poor  friend,  I  do  believe  it,"  answered 
Dick. 

*'  Yet  have  we  a  string  to  our  bow,"  returned  Lawless. 
*' Ellis  Duckworth  is  a  man  out  often  thousand;  he 
holdeth  you  right  near  his  heart,  both  for  your  own  and 
for  your  father's  sake;  and  knowing  you  guiltless  of 
this  fact,  he  will  stir  earth  and  heaven  to  bear  you 
clear." 

**It  may  not  be,"  said  Dick.  **What  can  he  do? 
230 


EARL  RISINGHAM 

He  hath  but  a  handful.  Alack,  if  it  were  but  to-mor- 
row—  could  I  but  keep  a  certain  tryst  an  hour  before 
noon  to-morrow  —  all  were,  I  think,  otherwise.  But 
now  there  is  no  help." 

"Well,"  concluded  Lawless,  '*an  ye  will  stand  to  it 
for  my  innocence,  I  will  stand  to  it  for  yours,  and  that 
stoutly.  It  shall  naught  avail  us;  but  an  I  be  to  hang, 
it  shall  not  be  for  lack  of  swearing." 

And  then,  while  Dick  gave  himself  over  to  his  reflec- 
tions, the  old  rogue  curled  himself  down  into  a  corner, 
pulled  his  monkish  hood  about  his  face,  and  composed 
himself  to  sleep.  Soon  he  was  loudly  snoring,  so  utterly 
had  his  long  life  of  hardship  and  adventure  blunted  the 
sense  of  apprehension. 

It  was  long  after  noon,  and  the  day  was  already  fail- 
ing, before  the  door  was  opened  and  Dick  taken  forth 
and  led  up-stairs  to  where,  in  a  warm  cabinet,  Earl 
Risingham  sat  musing  over  the  fire. 

On  his  captive's  entrance  he  looked  up. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "  I  knew  your  father,  who  was  a  man 
of  honour,  and  this  inclineth  me  to  be  the  more  lenient; 
but  I  may  not  hide  from  you  that  heavy  charges  lie 
against  your  character.  Ye  do  consort  with  murderers 
and  robbers ;  upon  a  clear  probation  ye  have  carried  war 
against  the  king's  peace;  ye  are  suspected  to  have  pi- 
ratically seized  upon  a  ship;  ye  are  found  skulking  with 
a  counterfeit  presentment  in  your  enemy's  house;  a 
man  is  slain  that  very  evening " 

"An  it  like  you,  my  lord,"  Dick  interposed,  "I  will 
at  once  avow  my  guilt,  such  as  it  is.  I  slew  this  fellow 
Rutter;  and  to  the  proof" — searching  in  his  bosom  — 
"  here  is  a  letter  from  his  wallet." 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

Lord  Risingham  took  the  letter,  and  opened  and  read 
it  twice. 

*'  Ye  have  read  this  ?"  he  inquired. 

"I  have  read  it,"  answered  Dick. 

''  Are  ye  for  York  or  Lancaster  ?  "  the  earl  demanded. 

**My  lord,  it  was  but  a  little  while  back  that  I  was 
asked  that  question,  and  knew  not  how  to  answer  it," 
said  Dick;  *'  but  having  answered  once,  I  will  not  vary. 
My  lord,  I  am  for  York." 

The  earl  nodded  approvingly. 

'*  Honestly  replied,"  he  said.  *'  But  wherefore,  then, 
deliver  me  this  letter  ?  " 

* '  Nay,  but  against  traitors,  my  lord,  are  not  all  sides 
arrayed?"  cried  Dick. 

"I  would  they  were,  young  gentleman,"  returned  the 
earl;  ''and  I  do  at  least  approve  your  saying.  There 
is  more  youth  than  guile  in  you,  I  do  perceive;  and 
were  not  Sir  Daniel  a  mighty  man  upon  our  side,  I  were 
half-tempted  to  espouse  your  quarrel.  For  I  have  in- 
quired, and  it  appears  ye  have  been  hardly  dealt  with, 
and  have  much  excuse.  But  look  ye,  sir,  1  am,  before 
all  else,  a  leader  in  the  queen's  interest;  and  though  by 
nature  a  just, man,  as  I  believe,  and  leaning  even  to  the 
excess  of  mercy,  yet  must  I  order  my  goings  for  my 
party's  interest,  and,  to  keep  Sir  Daniel,  I  would  go  far 
about." 

"My  lord,"  returned  Dick,  "ye  will  think  me  very 
bold  to  counsel  you;  but  do  ye  count  upon  Sir  Daniel's 
faith.?  Methought  he  had  changed  sides  intolerably 
often." 

"Nay,  it  is  the  way  of  England.  What  would  ye 
have  ?  "  the  earl  demanded.     "  But  ye  are  unjust  to  the 

23a 


EARL   RISINGHAM 

knight  of  Tunstall ;  and  as  faith  goes,  in  this  unfaithful 
generation,  he  hath  of  late  been  honourably  true  to  us  of 
Lancaster.     Even  in  our  last  reverses  he  stood  firm." 

*' An  it  pleased  you,  then,"  said  Dick,  "to  cast  your 
eye  upon  this  letter,  ye  might  somewhat  change  your 
thought  of  him ;  "  and  he  handed  to  the  earl  Sir  Daniel's 
letter  to  Lord  Wensleydale. 

The  effect  upon  the  earl's  countenance  was  instant; 
he  lowered  like  an  angry  lion,  and  his  hand,  with  a  sud- 
den movement,  clutched  at  his  dagger. 

'*  Ye  have  read  this  also  ?  "  he  asked. 

**Even  so,"  said  Dick.  *Mt  is  your  lordship's  own 
estate  he  offers  to  Lord  Wensleydale  ?  " 

*'It  is  my  own  estate,  even  as  ye  say!"  returned  the 
eari.  '*  I  am  your  bedesman  for  this  letter.  It  hath 
shown  me  a  fox's  hole.  Command  me,  Master  Shel- 
ton ;  I  will  not  be  backward  in  gratitude,  and  to  begin 
with,  York  or  Lancaster,  true  man  or  thief,  I  do  now  set 
you  at  freedom.  Go,  a  Mary's  name!  But  judge  it 
right  that  I  retain  and  hang  your  fellow.  Lawless.  The 
crime  hath  been  most  open,  and  it  were  fitting  that 
some  open  punishment  should  follow." 

*'My  lord,  I  make  it  my  first  suit  to  you  to  spare  him 
also,"  pleaded  Dick. 

*'  It  is  an  old,  condemned  rogue,  thief,  and  vagabond, 
Master  Shelton,"  said  the  earl  "He  hath  been  gal- 
lows-ripe this  score  of  years.  And,  whether  for  one 
thing  or  another,  whether  to-morrow  or  the  day  after, 
where  is  the  great  choice  ?  " 

"Yet,  my  lord,  it  was  through  love  to  me  that  he 
came  hither,"  answered  Dick,  "  and  I  were  churlish  and 
thankless  to  desert  him." 

233 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

"Master  Shelton,  ye  are  troublesome,"  replied  the 
earl,  severely.  "It  is  an  evil  way  to  prosper  in  this 
world.  Howbeit,  and  to  be  quit  of  your  importunity, 
I  will  once  more  humour  you.  Go,  then,  together;  but 
go  warily,  and  get  swiftly  out  of  Shoreby  town.  For 
this  Sir  Daniel  (whom  may  the  saints  confound !)  thirst- 
eth  most  greedily  to  have  your  blood." 

*'  My  lord,  I  do  now  offer  you  in  words  my  gratitude, 
trusting  at  some  brief  date  to  pay  you  some  of  it  in 
service,"  replied  Dick,  as  he  turned  from  the  apartment 


9M 


CHAPTER  VI 

ARBLASTER  AGAIN 

When  Dick  and  Lawless  were  suffered  to  steal,  by  a 
back  way,  out  of  the  house  where  Lord  Risingham  held 
his  garrison,  the  evening  had  already  come. 

They  paused  in  shelter  of  the  garden  wall  to  consult 
on  their  best  course.  The  danger  was  extreme.  If 
one  of  Sir  Daniel's  men  caught  sight  of  them  and  raised 
the  view-hallo,  they  would  be  run  down  and  butchered 
instantly.  And  not  only  was  the  town  of  Shoreby  a 
mere  net  of  peril  for  their  lives,  but  to  make  for  the 
open  country  was  to  run  the  risk  of  the  patrols. 

A  little  way  off,  upon  some  open  ground,  they  spied 
a  windmill  standing;  and  hard  by  that,  a  very  large 
granary  with  open  doors. 

**How  if  we  lay  there  until  the  night  fall?"  Dick 
proposed. 

And  Lawless  having  no  better  suggestion  to  offer, 
they  made  a  straight  push  for  the  granary  at  a  run,  and 
concealed  themselves  behind  the  door  among  some 
straw.  The  daylight  rapidly  departed;  and  presently 
the  moon  was  silvering  the  frozen  snow.  Now  or  never 
was  their  opportunity  to  gain  the  Goat  and  Bagpipes 
unobserved  and  change  their  tell-tale  garments.  Yet 
even  then  it  was  advisable  to  go  round  by  the  outskirts, 

335 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

and  not  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  market-place,  where,  in 
the  concourse  of  people,  they  stood  the  more  imminent 
peril  to  be  recognised  and  slain. 

This  course  was  a  long  one.  It  took  them  not  far 
from  the  house  by  the  beach,  now  lying  dark  and  silent, 
and  brought  them  forth  at  last  by  the  margin  of  the 
harbour.  Many  of  the  ships,  as  they  could  see  by  the 
clear  moonshine,  had  weighed  anchor,  and,  profiting  by 
the  calm  sky,  proceeded  for  more  distant  parts;  answer- 
ably  to  this,  the  rude  alehouses  along  the  beach  (al- 
though in  defiance  of  the  curfew  law,  they  still  shone 
with  fire  and  candle)  were  no  longer  thronged  with 
customers,  and  no  longer  echoed  to  the  chorus  of  sea- 
songs. 

Hastily,  half-running,  with  their  monkish  raiment 
kilted  to  the  knee,  they  plunged  through  the  deep  snow 
and  threaded  the  labyrinth  of  marine  lumber;  and  they 
were  already  more  than  half  way  round  the  harbour 
when,  as  they  were  passing  close  before  an  alehouse, 
the  door  suddenly  opened  and  let  out  a  gush  of  light 
upon  their  fleeting  figures. 

Instantly  they  stopped,  and  made  believe  to  be  en- 
gaged in  earnest  conversation. 

Three  men,  one  after  another,  came  out  of  the  ale- 
house, and  the  last  closed  the  door  behind  him.  All 
three  were  unsteady  upon  their  feet,  as  if  they  had 
passed  the  day  in  deep  potations,  and  they  now  stood 
wavering  in  the  moonlight,  like  men  who  knew  not 
what  they  would  be  after.  The  tallest  of  the  three  was 
talking  in  a  loud,  lamentable  voice. 

**  Seven  pieces  of  as  good  Gascony  as  ever  a  tapster 
broached,"  he  was  saying,  **the  best  ship  out  o'  the 

236 


ARBLASTER  AGAIN 

port  o'  Dartmouth,  a  Virgin  Mary  parcel-gilt,  thirteen 
pounds  of  good  gold  money " 

"I  have  bad  losses,  too,"  interrupted  one  of  the 
others.  *'I  have  had  losses  of  mine  own,  gossip  Ar- 
blaster.  I  was  robbed  at  Martinmas  of  five  shillings  and 
a  leather  wallet  well  worth  ninepence  farthing." 

Dick's  heart  smote  him  at  what  he  heard.  Until  that 
moment  he  had  not  perhaps  thought  twice  of  the  poor 
skipper  who  had  been  ruined  by  the  loss  of  the  Good 
Hope;  so  careless,  in  those  days,  were  men  who  wore 
arms  of  the  goods  and  interests  of  their  inferiors.  But 
this  sudden  encounter  reminded  him  sharply  of  the 
high-handed  manner  and  ill-ending  of  his  enterprise; 
and  both  he  and  Lawless  turned  their  heads  the  other 
way,  to  avoid  the  chance  of  recognition. 

The  ship's  dog  had,  however,  made  his  escape  from 
the  wreck  and  found  his  way  back  again  to  Shoreby. 
He  was  now  at  Arblaster's  heels,  and  suddenly  sniffing 
and  pricking  his  ears,  he  darted  forward  and  began  to 
bark  furiously  at  the  two  sham  friars. 

His  master  unsteadily  followed  him. 

"  Hey,  shipmates ! "  he  cried.  **  Have  ye  ever  a  penny 
piece  for  a  poor  old  shipman,  clean  destroyed  by  pi- 
rates ?  I  am  a  man  that  would  have  paid  for  you  both 
o'  Thursday  morning;  and  now  here  1  be,  o'  Saturday 
night,  begging  for  a  flagon  of  ale!  Ask  my  man  Tom, 
if  ye  misdoubt  me.  Seven  pieces  of  good  Gascon  wine, 
a  ship  that  was  mine  own,  and  was  my  father's  before 
me,  a  Blessed  Mary  of  plane-tree  wood  and  parcel-gilt, 
and  thirteen  pounds  in  gold  and  silver.  Hey!  what  say 
ye?  A  man  that  fought  the  French,  too;  for  I  have 
fought  the  French ;  I  have  cut  more  French  throats  upon 

337 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

the  high  seas  than  ever  a  man  that  sails  out  of  Dart- 
mouth.    Come,  a  penny  piece." 

Neither  Dick  nor  Lawless  durst  answer  him  a  word, 
lest  he  should  recognise  their  voices;  and  they  stood 
there  as  helpless  as  a  ship  ashore,  not  knowing  where 
to  turn  nor  what  to  hope. 

"Are  ye  dumb,  boy?"  inquired  the  skipper. 
"Mates,"  he  added,  with  a  hiccup,  "they  be  dumb. 
I  like  not  this  manner  of  discourtesy;  for  an  a  man  be 
dumb,  so  be  as  he's  courteous,  he  will  still  speak  when 
he  was  spoken  to,  methinks." 

By  this  time  the  sailor,  Tom,  who  was  a  man  of  great 
personal  strength,  seemed  to  have  conceived  some  sus- 
picion of  these  two  speechless  figures ;  and  being  soberer 
than  his  captain,  stepped  suddenly  before  him,  took 
Lawless  roughly  by  the  shoulder,  and  asked  him,  with 
an  oath,  what  ailed  him  that  he  held  his  tongue.  To 
this  the  outlaw,  thinking  all  was  over,  made  answer  by 
a  wrestling  feint  that  stretched  the  sailor  on  the  sand, 
and,  calling  upon  Dick  to  follow  him,  took  to  his  heels 
among  the  lumber. 

The  affair  passed  in  a  second.  Before  Dick  could  run 
at  all,  Arblaster  had  him  in  his  arms;  Tom,  crawling  on 
his  face,  had  caught  him  by  one  foot,  and  the  third  man 
had  a  drawn  cutlass  brandishing  above  his  head. 

It  was  not  so  much  the  danger,  it  was  not  so  much 
the  annoyance,  that  now  bowed  down  the  spirits  of 
young  Shelton ;  it  was  the  profound  humiliation  to  have 
escaped  Sir  Daniel,  convinced  Lord  Risingham,  and  now 
fall  helpless  in  the  hands  of  this  old,  drunken  sailor; 
and  not  merely  helpless,  but,  as  his  conscience  loudly 
told  him  when  it  was  too  late,  actually  guilty — actually 

338 


ARBLASTER  AGAIN 

the  bankrupt  debtor  of  the  man  whose  ship  he  had 
stolen  and  lost. 

"Bring  me  him  back  into  the  alehouse,  till  I  see  his 
face,"  said  Arblaster. 

"Nay,  nay,"  returned  Tom;  "but  let  us  first  unload 
his  wallet,  lest  the  other  lads  cry  share." 

But  though  he  was  searched  from  head  to  foot,  not 
a  penny  was  found  upon  him ;  nothing  but  Lord  Fox- 
ham's  signet,  which  they  plucked  savagely  from  his 
fmger. 

"Turn  me  him  to  the  moon,"  said  the  skipper;  and 
taking  Dick  by  the  chin,  he  cruelly  jerked  his  head  into 
the  air.     * '  Blessed  Virgin ! "  he  cried,  "  it  is  the  pirate  1 " 

"Hey! "  cried  Tom. 

"  By  the  Virgin  of  Bordeaux,  it  is  the  man  himself! " 
repeated  Arblaster.  "  What,  sea-thief,  do  1  hold  you  ?  " 
he  cried.  "Where  is  my  ship.?  Where  is  my  wine.? 
Hey!  have  I  you  in  my  hands  ?  Tom,  give  me  one  end 
of  a  cord  here;  I  will  so  truss  me  this  sea-thief,  hand 
and  foot  together,  like  a  basting  turkey  —  marry,  I  will 
so  bind  him  up  —  and  thereafter  I  will  so  beat  —  so  beat 
him!" 

And  so  he  ran  on,  winding  the  cord  meanwhile  about 
Dick's  limbs  with  the  dexterity  peculiar  to  seamen,  and 
at  every  turn  and  cross  securing  it  with  a  knot,  and 
tightening  the  whole  fabric  with  a  savage  pull. 

When  he  had  done,  the  lad  was  a  mere  package  in  his 
hands  —  as  helpless  as  the  dead.  The  skipper  held  him 
at  arm's  length,  and  laughed  aloud.  Then  he  fetched 
him  a  stunning  buffet  on  the  ear;  and  then  turned 
him  about,  and  furiously  kicked  and  kicked  him.  An- 
ger rose  up  in  Dick's  bosom  like  a  storm ;  anger  stran- 

139 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

gled  him,  and  he  thought  to  have  died ;  but  when  the 
sailor,  tired  of  this  cruel  play,  dropped  him  all  his  length 
upon  the  sand  and  turned  to  consult  with  his  compan- 
ions, he  instantly  regained  command  of  his  temper.  Here 
was  a  momentary  respite ;  ere  they  began  again  to  torture 
him,  he  might  have  found  some  method  to  escape  from 
this  degrading  and  fatal  misadventure. 

Presently,  sure  enough,  and  while  his  captors  were 
still  discussing  what  to  do  with  him,  he  took  heart  of 
grace,  and,  with  a  pretty  steady  voice,  addressed  them. 

"  My  masters,"  he  began,  *'  are  ye  gone  clean  foolish  ? 
Here  hath  Heaven  put  into  your  hands  as  pretty  an  oc- 
casion to  grow  rich  as  ever  shipman  had  —  such  as  ye 
might  make  thirty  over-sea  adventures  and  not  fmd 
again  —  and,  by  the  mass!  what  do  ye.^  Beat  me.^  — 
nay;  so  would  an  angry  child!  But  for  long-headed 
tarry-Johns,  that  fear  not  fire  nor  water,  and  that  love 
gold  as  they  love  beef,  methinks  ye  are  not  wise." 

"Ay,"  said  Tom,  "now  y'  are  trussed  ye  would 
cozen  us." 

"  Cozen  you! "  repeated  Dick.  "Nay,  if  ye  be  fools, 
it  would  be  easy.  But  if  ye  be  shrewd  fellows,  as  I 
trow  ye  are,  ye  can  see  plainly  where  your  interest  lies. 
When  I  took  your  ship  from  you,  we  were  many,  we 
were  well  clad  and  armed;  but  now,  bethink  you  a 
little,  who  mustered  that  array?  One  incontestably 
that  hath  much  gold.  And  if  he,  being  already  rich, 
continueth  to  hunt  after  more  even  in  the  face  of  storms 
—  bethink  you  once  more — shall  there  not  be  a  treasure 
somewhere  hidden  ?  " 

"What  meaneth  he?"  asked  one  of  the  men. 

"Why,  if  ye  have  lost  an  old  skiff  and  a  few  jugs 
240 


ARBLASTER  AGAIN 

of  vinegary  wine,"  continued  Dick,  "forget  them,  for 
the  trash  they  are;  and  do  ye  rather  buckle  to  an  ad- 
venture worth  the  name,  that  shall,  in  twelve  hours, 
make  or  mar  you  for  ever.  But  take  me  up  from  where 
I  lie,  and  let  us  go  somewhere  near  at  hand  and  talk 
across  a  flagon,  for  I  am  sore  and  frozen,  and  my  mouth 
is  half  among  the  snow." 

"He  seeks  but  to  cozen  us,"  said  Tom,  contemptu- 
ously. 

"Cozen!  cozen!"  cried  the  third  man.  "I  would 
I  could  see  the  man  that  could  cozen  me!  He  were  a 
cozener  indeed !  Nay,  I  was  not  born  yesterday.  I  can 
see  a  church  when  it  hath  a  steeple  on  it;  and  for  my 
part,  gossip  Arblaster,  methinks  there  is  some  sense  in 
this  young  man.  Shall  we  go  hear  him,  indeed  ?  Say, 
shall  we  go  hear  him  ?" 

"  I  would  look  gladly  on  a  pottle  of  strong  ale,  good 
Master  Pirret, "  returned  Arblaster.  *  *  How  say  ye,  Tom  ? 
But  then  the  wallet  is  empty." 

"  I  will  pay,"  said  the  other — "  I  will  pay.  I  would 
fain  see  this  matter  out;  I  do  believe,  upon  my  con- 
science, there  is  gold  in  it." 

"  Nay,  if  ye  get  again  to  drinking,  all  is  lost! "  cried 
Tom. 

"Gossip  Arblaster,  ye  suffer  your  fellow  to  have  too 
much  liberty,"  returned  Master  Pirret.  "Would  ye  be 
led  by  a  hired  man  ?    Fy,  fy!  " 

"Peace,  fellow!"  said  Arblaster,  addressing  Tom. 
"Will  ye  put  your  oar  in?  Truly  a  fine  pass,  when 
the  crew  is  to  correct  the  skipper!" 

"Well,  then,  go  your  way,"  said  Tom;  "I  wash  my 
hands  of  you." 

241 


THE   BLACK   ARROW 

"Set  him,  then,  upon  his  feet,"  said  Master  Pirret. 
'*l  know  a  privy  place  where  we  may  drink  and  dis- 
course." 

"  If  I  am  to  walk,  my  friends,  ye  must  set  my  feet  at 
liberty,"  said  Dick,  when  he  had  been  once  more  planted 
upright  like  a  post. 

"He  saith  true,"  laughed  Pirret.  "Truly,  he  could 
not  walk  accoutred  as  he  is.  Give  it  a  slit — out  with 
your  knife  and  slit  it,  gossip." 

Even  Arblaster  paused  at  this  proposal;  but  as  his 
companion  continued  to  insist,  and  Dick  had  the  sense 
to  keep  the  merest  wooden  indifference  of  expression, 
and  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  over  the  delay,  the 
skipper  consented  at  last,  and  cut  the  cords  which  tied 
his  prisoner's  feet  and  legs.  Not  only  did  this  enable 
Dick  to  walk;  but  the  whole  network  of  his  bonds  be- 
ing proportionately  loosened,  he  felt  the  arm  behind  his 
back  begin  to  move  more  freely,  and  could  hope,  with 
time  and  trouble,  to  entirely  disengage  it.  So  much  he 
owed  already  to  the  owlish  silliness  and  greed  of  Master 
Pirret. 

That  worthy  now  assumed  the  lead,  and  conducted 
them  to  the  very  same  rude  alehouse  where  Lawless 
had  taken  Arblaster  on  the  day  of  the  gale.  It  was  now 
quite  deserted ;  the  fire  was  a  pile  of  red  embers,  radiat- 
ing the  most  ardent  heat;  and  when  they  had  chosen 
their  places,  and  the  landlord  had  set  before  them  a 
measure  of  mulled  ale,  both  Pirret  and  Arblaster 
stretched  forth  their  legs  and  squared  their  elbows  like 
men  bent  upon  a  pleasant  hour. 

The  table  at  which  they  sat,  like  all  the  others  in  the 
alehouse,  consisted  of  a  heavy,  square  board,  set  on  a 

242 


ARBLASTER  AGAIN 

pair  of  barrels ;  and  each  of  the  four  curiously-assorted 
cronies  sat  at  one  side  of  the  square,  Pirret  facing  Ar- 
blaster,  and  Dick  opposite  to  the  common  sailor. 

"And  now,  young  man,"  said  Pirret,  "to  your  tale. 
It  doth  appear,  indeed,  that  ye  have  somewhat  abused 
our  gossip  Arblaster;  but  what  then.^  Make  it  up  to 
him  —  show  him  but  this  chance  to  become  wealthy  — 
and  I  will  go  pledge  he  will  forgive  you." 

So  far  Dick  had  spoken  pretty  much  at  random;  but 
it  was  now  necessary,  under  the  supervision  of  six  eyes, 
to  invent  and  tell  some  marvellous  story,  and,  if  it  were 
possible,  get  back  into  his  hands  the  all-important  sig- 
net. To  squander  time  was  the  first  necessity.  The 
longer  his  stay  lasted,  the  more  would  his  captors  drink, 
and  the  surer  should  he  be  when  he  attempted  his 
escape. 

Well,  Dick  was  not  much  of  an  inventor,  and  what 
he  told  was  pretty  much  the  tale  of  AH  Baba,  with 
Shoreby  and  Tunstall  Forest  substituted  for  the  East, 
and  the  treasures  of  the  cavern  rather  exaggerated  than 
diminished.  As  the  reader  is  aware,  it  is  an  excellent 
story,  and  has  but  one  drawback  —  that  it  is  not  true; 
and  so,  as  these  three  simple  shipmen  now  heard  it  for 
the  first  time,  their  eyes  stood  out  of  their  faces,  and 
their  mouths  gaped  like  codfish  at  a  fishmonger's. 

Pretty  soon  a  second  measure  of  mulled  ale  was  called 
for;  and  while  Dick  was  still  artfully  spinning  out  the 
incidents  a  third  followed  the  second. 

Here  was  the  position  of  the  parties  towards  the  end : 

Arblaster,  three-parts  drunk  and  one-half  asleep, 
hung  helpless  on  his  stool.  Even  Tom  had  been  much 
delighted  with  the  tale,  and  his  vigilance  had  abated  in 

243 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

proportion.  Meanwhile,  Dick  had  gradually  wormed 
his  right  arm  clear  of  its  bonds,  and  was  ready  to  risk 
all. 

''And  so,"  said  Pirret,  "y'  are  one  of  these?" 

*'I  was  made  so,"  replied  Dick,  "against  my  will; 
but  an  I  could  but  get  a  sack  or  two  of  gold  coin  to 
my  share,  I  should  be  a  fool  indeed  to  continue  dwell- 
ing in  a  filthy  cave,  and  standing  shot  and  buffet  like  a 
soldier.  Here  be  we  four;  good!  Let  us,  then,  go 
forth  into  the  forest  to-morrow  ere  the  sun  be  up. 
Could  we  come  honestly  by  a  donkey,  it  were  better; 
but  an  we  cannot,  we  have  our  four  strong  backs,  and 
I  warrant  me  we  shall  come  home  staggering." 

Pirret  licked  his  lips. 

"And  this  magic,"  he  said —  "this  password,  where- 
by the  cave  is  opened  —  how  call  ye  it,  friend.^" 

"  Nay,  none  know  the  word  but  the  three  chiefs,"  re- 
turned Dick ;  "but  here  is  your  great  good  fortune,  that, 
on  this  very  evening,  I  should  be  the  bearer  of  a  spell  to 
open  it.  It  is  a  thing  not  trusted  twice  a  year  beyond 
the  captain's  wallet." 

"A  spell ! "  said  Arblaster,  half  awakening,  and  squint- 
ing upon  Dick  with  one  eye.  "Aroint  thee!  no  spells! 
I  be  a  good  Christian.     Ask  my  man  Tom,  else." 

"  Nay,  but  this  is  white  magic,"  said  Dick.  "  It  doth 
naught  with  the  devil;  only  the  powers  of  numbers, 
herbs,  and  planets." 

"Ay,  ay," said  Pirret;  "'tis  but  white  magic,  gossip. 
There  is  no  sin  therein,  I  do  assure  you.  But  proceed, 
good  youth.     This  spell  —  in  what  should  it  consist?" 

"Nay,  that  I  will  incontinently  show  you,"  answered 
Dick.    * '  Have  ye  there  the  ring  ye  took  from  my  finger  ? 

244 


ARBLASTER  AGAIN 

Good !  Now  hold  it  forth  before  you  by  the  extreme 
finger-ends,  at  the  arm's  length,  and  over  against  the 
shining  of  these  embers.  'Tis  so  exactly.  Thus,  then, 
is  the  spell." 

With  a  haggard  glance,  Dick  saw  the  coast  was  clear 
between  him  and  the  door.  He  put  up  an  internal 
prayer.  Then  whipping  forth  his  arm,  he  made  but 
one  snatch  of  the  ring,  and  at  the  same  instant,  levering 
up  the  table,  he  sent  it  bodily  over  upon  the  seaman 
Tom.  He,  poor  soul,  went  down  bawling  under  the 
ruins;  and  before  Arblaster  understood  that  anything 
was  wrong,  or  Pirret  could  collect  his  dazzled  wits, 
Dick  had  run  to  the  door  and  escaped  into  the  moonlit 
night. 

The  moon,  which  now  rode  in  the  mid-heavens,  and 
the  extreme  whiteness  of  the  snow,  made  the  open 
ground  about  the  harbour  bright  as  day;  and  young 
Shelton  leaping,  with  kilted  robe,  among  the  lumber, 
was  a  conspicuous  figure  from  afar. 

Tom  and  Pirret  followed  him  with  shouts;  from  every 
drinking-shop  they  were  joined  by  others  whom  their 
cries  aroused ;  and  presently  a  whole  fleet  of  sailors  was 
in  full  pursuit.  But  Jack  ashore  was  a  bad  runner,  even 
in  the  fifteenth  century,  and  Dick,  besides,  had  a  start, 
which  he  rapidly  improved,  until,  as  he  drew  near  the 
entrance  of  a  narrow  lane,  he  even  paused  and  looked 
laughingly  behind  him. 

Upon  the  white  floor  of  snow,  all  the  shipmen  of 
Shoreby  came  clustering  in  an  inky  mass,  and  tailing 
out  rearward  in  isolated  clumps.  Every  man  was  shout- 
ing or  screaming;  every  man  was  gesticulating  with 
both  arms  in  air;  some  one  was  continually  falling;  and 

245 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

to  complete  the  picture,  when  one  fell,  a  dozen  would 
fall  upon  the  top  of  him. 

The  confused  mass  of  sound  which  they  rolled  up  as 
high  as  to  the  moon  was  partly  comical  and  partly  ter- 
rifying to  the  fugitive  whom  they  were  hunting.  In 
itself,  it  was  impotent,  for  he  made  sure  no  seaman  in 
the  port  could  run  him  down.  But  the  mere  volume 
of  noise,  in  so  far  as  it  must  awake  all  the  sleepers  in 
Shoreby  and  bring  all  the  skulking  sentries  to  the  street, 
did  really  threaten  him  with  danger  in  the  front.  So, 
spying  a  dark  doorway  at  a  corner,  he  whipped  briskly 
into  it,  and  let  the  uncouth  hunt  go  by  him,  still  shout- 
ing and  gesticulating,  and  all  red  with  hurry  and  white 
with  tumbles  in  the  snow. 

It  was  a  long  while,  indeed,  before  this  great  invasion 
of  the  town  by  the  harbour  came  to  an  end,  and  it  was 
long  before  silence  was  restored.  For  long,  lost  sailors 
were  still  to  be  heard  pounding  and  shouting  through 
the  streets  in  all  directions  and  in  every  quarter  of  the 
town.  Quarrels  followed,  sometimes  among  them- 
selves, sometimes  with  the  men  of  the  patrols ;  knives 
were  drawn,  blows  given  and  received,  and  more  than 
one  dead  body  remained  behind  upon  the  snow. 

When,  a  full  hour  later,  the  last  seaman  returned 
grumblingly  to  the  harbour  side  and  his  particular  tav- 
ern, it  may  fairly  be  questioned  if  he  had  ever  known 
what  manner  of  man  he  was  pursuing,  but  it  was  abso- 
lutely sure  that  he  had  now  forgotten.  By  next  morn- 
ing there  were  many  strange  stories  flying;  and  a  little 
while  after,  the  legend  of  the  devil's  nocturnal  visit  was 
an  article  of  faith  with  all  the  lads  of  Shoreby. 

But  the  return  of  the  last  seaman  did  not,  even  yet, 
246 


ARBLASTER  AGAIN 

set  free  young  Shelton  from  his  cold  imprisonment  in 
the  doorway. 

For  some  time  after,  there  was  a  great  activity  of  pa- 
trols; and  special  parties  came  forth  to  make  the  round 
of  the  place  and  report  to  one  or  other  of  the  great  lords, 
whose  slumbers  had  been  thus  unusually  broken. 

The  night  was  already  well  spent  before  Dick  ven- 
tured from  his  hiding-place  and  came,  safe  and  sound, 
but  aching  with  cold  and  bruises,  to  the  door  of  the 
Goat  and  Bagpipes.  As  the  law  required,  there  was 
neither  fire  nor  candle  in  the  house;  but  he  groped  his 
way  into  a  corner  of  the  icy  guest-room,  found  an  end 
of  a  blanket,  which  he  hitched  around  his  shoulders, 
and  creeping  close  to  the  nearest  sleeper,  was  soon  lost 
in  slumber. 


m 


BOOK  V 

CROOKBACK 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  SHRILL  TRUMPET 

VERY  early  the  next  morning,  before  the  first  peep 
of  the  day,  Dick  arose,  changed  his  garments, 
armed  himself  once  more  like  a  gentleman,  and  set  forth 
for  Lawless's  den  in  the  forest.  There,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, he  had  left  Lord  Foxham's  papers;  and  to  get 
these  and  be  back  in  time  for  the  tryst  with  the  young 
Duke  of  Gloucester  could  only  be  managed  by  an  early 
start  and  the  most  vigorous  walking. 

The  frost  was  more  rigorous  than  ever;  the  air  wind- 
less and  dry,  and  stinging  to  the  nostril.  The  moon 
had  gone  down,  but  the  stars  were  still  bright  and  nu- 
merous, and  the  reflection  from  the  snow  was  clear  and 
cheerful.  There  was  no  need  for  a  lamp  to  walk  by ; 
nor,  in  that  still  but  ringing  air,  the  least  temptation  to 
delay. 

Dick  had  crossed  the  greater  part  of  the  open  ground 
between  Shoreby  and  the  forest,  and  had  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  little  hill,  some  hundred  yards  below  the 
Cross  of  St.  Bride,  when,  through  the  stillness  of  the 
black  morn,  there  rang  forth  the  note  of  a  trumpet,  so 
shrill,  clear,  and  piercing,  that  he  thought  he  had  never 
heard  the  match  of  it  for  audibility.  It  was  blown  once, 
and  then  hurriedly  a  second  time;  and  then  the  clash  of 
steel  succeeded. 

351 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

At  this  young  Shelton  pricked  his  ears,  and  drawing 
his  sword,  ran  forward  up  the  hill. 

Presently  he  came  in  sight  of  the  cross,  and  was  aware 
of  a  most  fierce  encounter  raging  on  the  road  before  it. 
There  were  seven  or  eight  assailants,  and  but  one  to 
keep  head  against  them ;  but  so  active  and  dexterous 
was  this  one,  so  desperately  did  he  charge  and  scatter 
his  opponents,  so  deftly  keep  his  footing  on  the  ice,  that 
already,  before  Dick  could  intervene,  he  had  slain  one, 
wounded  another,  and  kept  the  whole  in  check. 

Still,  it  was  by  a  miracle  that  he  continued  his  defence, 
and  at  any  moment,  any  accident,  the  least  slip  of  foot 
or  error  of  hand,  his  life  would  be  a  forfeit. 

"Hold  ye  well,  sir!  Here  is  help!"  cried  Richard; 
and  forgetting  that  he  was  alone,  and  that  the  cry  was 
somewhat  irregular,  **To  the  Arrow!  to  the  Arrow!" 
he  shouted,  as  he  fell  upon  the  rear  of  the  assailants. 

These  were  stout  fellows  also,  for  they  gave  not  an 
inch  at  this  surprise,  but  faced  about,  and  fell  with  as- 
tonishing fury  upon  Dick.  Four  against  one,  the  steel 
flashed  about  him  in  the  starlight;  the  sparks  flew 
fiercely;  one  of  the  men  opposed  to  him  fell  —  in  the 
stir  of  the  fight  he  hardly  knew  why ;  then  he  himself 
was  struck  across  the  head,  and  though  the  steel  cap 
below  his  hood  protected  him,  the  blow  beat  him  down 
upon  one  knee,  with  a  brain  whirling  like  a  windmill 
sail. 

Meanwhile  the  man  whom  he  had  come  to  rescue, 
instead  of  joining  in  the  conflict,  had,  on  the  first  sign  of 
intervention,  leaped  aback  and  blown  again,  and  yet 
more  urgently  and  loudly,  on  that  same  shrill-voiced 
trumpet  that  began  the  alarm.     Next  moment,  indeed, 

252 


THE  SHRILL  TRUMPET 

his  foes  were  on  him,  and  he  was  once  more  charging 
and  fleeing,  leaping,  stabbing,  dropping  to  his  knee, 
and  using  indifferently  sword  and  dagger,  foot  and 
hand,  with  the  same  unshaken  courage  and  feverish 
energy  and  speed. 

But  that  ear-piercing  summons  had  been  heard  at  last. 
There  was  a  muffled  rushing  in  the  snow;  and  in  a 
good  hour  for  Dick,  who  saw  the  sword-points  glitter 
already  at  his  throat,  there  poured  forth  out  of  the  wood 
upon  both  sides  a  disorderly  torrent  of  mounted  men-at- 
arms,  each  cased  in  iron,  and  with  visor  lowered,  each 
bearing  his  lance  in  rest,  or  his  sword  bared  and  raised, 
and  each  carrying,  so  to  speak,  a  passenger,  in  the  shape 
of  an  archer  or  page,  who  leaped  one  after  another  from 
their  perches,  and  had  presently  doubled  the  array. 

The  original  assailants,  seeing  themselves  outnum- 
bered and  surrounded,  threw  down  their  arms  without 
a  word. 

"  Seize  me  these  fellows! "  said  the  hero  of  the  trum- 
pet; and  when  his  order  had  been  obeyed,  he  drew  near 
to  Dick  and  looked  him  in  the  face. 

Dick,  returning  this  scrutiny,  was  surprised  to  find  in 
one  who  had  displayed  such  strength,  skill  and  energy, 
a  lad  no  older  than  himself —  slightly  deformed,  with 
one  shoulder  higher  than  the  other,  and  of  a  pale,  pain- 
ful, and  distorted  countenance.^  The  eyes,  however, 
were  very  clear  and  bold. 

*'Sir,"  said  this  lad,  *'ye  came  in  good  time  for  me, 
and  none  too  early." 

"  My  lord."  returned  Dick,  with  a  faint  sense  that  he 
was  in  the  presence  of  a  great  personage,  '*ye  are  your- 

1  Richard  Crookback  would  have  been  really  far  younger  at  this  date. 
253 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

self  so  marvellous  a  good  swordsman  that  I  believe  ye 
had  managed  them  single-handed.  Howbeit,  it  was 
certainly  well  for  me  that  your  men  delayed  no  longer 
than  they  did." 

*'  How  knew  ye  who  I  was  ?  "  demanded  the  stranger. 

**Even  now,  my  lord,"  Dick  answered,  *'I  am  igno- 
rant of  whom  I  speak  with." 

**Is  it  so?"  asked  the  other.  *'And  yet  ye  threw 
yourself  head  first  into  this  unequal  battle." 

"  I  saw  one  man  valiantly  contending  against  many," 
replied  Dick,  "and  I  had  thought  myself  dishonoured 
not  to  bear  him  aid." 

A  singular  sneer  played  about  the  young  nobleman's 
mouth  as  he  made  answer: 

''These  are  very  brave  words.  But  to  the  more  es- 
sential—  are  ye  Lancaster  or  York  ?" 

*'My  lord,  I  make  no  secret;  I  am  clear  for  York," 
Dick  answered. 

*'By  the  mass!"  replied  the  other,  *'it  is  well  for 
you." 

And  so  saying,  he  turned  towards  one  of  his  fol- 
lowers. 

"  Let  me  see,"  he  continued,  in  the  same  sneering  and 
cruel  tones —  'Met  me  see  a  clean  end  of  these  brave  gen- 
tlemen.    Truss  me  them  up." 

There  were  but  five  survivors  of  the  attacking  party. 
Archers  seized  them  by  the  arms ;  they  were  hurried  to 
the  borders  of  the  wood,  and  each  placed  below  a  tree 
of  suitable  dimension;  the  rope  was  adjusted;  an  archer, 
carrying  the  end  of  it,  hastily  clambered  overhead ;  and  be- 
fore a  minute  was  over,  and  without  a  word  passing  upon 
either  hand,  the  five  men  were  swinging  by  the  neck. 

254 


THE  SHRILL  TRUMPET 

"And  now,"  cried  the  deformed  leader,  "back  to 
your  posts,  and  when  I  summon  you  next,  be  readier 
to  attend." 

"My  lord  duke,"  said  one  man,  "beseech  you,  tarry 
not  here  alone.  Keep  but  a  handful  of  lances  at  your 
hand." 

"  Fellow,"  said  the  duke,  "  I  have  forborne  to  chide 
you  for  your  slowness.  Cross  me  not,  therefore.  I 
trust  my  hand  and  arm,  for  all  that  I  be  crooked.  Ye 
were  backward  when  the  trumpet  sounded ;  and  ye  are 
now  too  forward  with  your  counsels.  But  it  is  ever  so ; 
last  with  the  lance  and  first  with  tongue.  Let  it  be  re- 
versed." 

And  with  a  gesture  that  was  not  without  a  sort  of 
dangerous  nobility,  he  waved  them  off. 

The  footmen  climbed  again  to  their  seats  behind  the 
men-at-arms,  and  the  whole  party  moved  slowly  away 
and  disappeared  in  twenty  different  directions,  under 
the  cover  of  the  forest. 

The  day  was  by  this  time  beginning  to  break,  and 
the  stars  to  fade.  The  first  grey  glimmer  of  dawn  shone 
upon  the  countenances  of  the  two  young  men,  who  now 
turned  once  more  to  face  each  other. 

"  Here,"  said  the  duke,  "ye  have  seen  my  vengeance, 
which  is,  like  my  blade,  both  sharp  and  ready.  But  I 
would  not  have  you,  for  all  Christendom,  suppose  me 
thankless.  You  that  came  to  my  aid  with  a  good  sword 
and  a  better  courage  —  unless  that  ye  recoil  from  my 
misshapenness  —  come  to  my  heart." 

And  so  saying,  the  young  leader  held  out  his  arms 
for  an  embrace. 

In  the  bottom  of  his  heart  Dick  already  entertained  a 
^55 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

great  terror  and  some  hatred  for  the  man  whom  he  had 
rescued ;  but  the  invitation  was  so  worded  that  it  would 
not  have  been  merely  discourteous,  but  cruel,  to  refuse 
or  hesitate ;  and  he  hastened  to  comply. 

**  And  now,  my  lord  duke,"  he  said,  when  he  had  re- 
gained his  freedom,  **  do  1  suppose  aright  ?  Are  ye  my 
Lord  Duke  of  Gloucester  ?  " 

*M  am  Richard  of  Gloucester,"  returned  the  other. 
**  And  you  —  how  call  they  you  ?  " 

Dick  told  him  his  name,  and  presented  Lord  Foxham's 
signet,  which  the  duke  immediately  recognised. 

**Ye  come  too  soon,"  he  said;  "but  why  should  I 
complain  ?  Ye  are  like  me,  that  was  here  at  watch  two 
hours  before  the  day.  But  this  is  the  first  sally  of  mine 
arms;  upon  this  adventure.  Master  Shelton,  shall  1  make 
or  mar  the  quality  of  my  renown.  There  lie  mine  ene- 
mies, under  two  old,  skilled  captains  —  Risingham  and 
Brackley — well  posted  for  strength,  I  do  believe,  but 
yet  upon  two  sides  without  retreat,  enclosed  betwixt 
the  sea,  the  harbour,  and  the  river.  Methinks,  Shelton, 
here  were  a  great  blow  to  be  stricken,  an  we  could 
strike  it  silently  and  suddenly." 

"I  do  think  so,  indeed,"  cried  Dick,  warming. 

"Have  ye  my  Lord  Foxham's  notes?"  inquired  the 
duke. 

And  then,  Dick,  having  explained  how  he  was  with- 
out them  for  the  moment,  made  himself  bold  to  offer 
information  every  jot  as  good,  of  his  own  knowledge. 

"And  for  mine  own  part,  my  lord  duke,"  he  added, 
"an  ye  had  men  enough,  I  would  fall  on  even  at  this 
present.  For,  look  ye,  at  the  peep  of  day  the  watches 
of  the  night  are  over;  but  by  day  they  keep  neither 

256 


THE  SHRILL  TRUMPET 

watch  nor  ward  —  only  scour  the  outskirts  with  horse- 
men. Now,  then,  when  the  night  watch  is  already 
unarmed,  and  the  rest  are  at  their  morning  cup  —  now 
were  the  time  to  break  them." 

**  How  many  do  ye  count  ?"  asked  Gloucester. 

'*They  number  not  two  thousand,"  Dick  replied. 

**  I  have  seven  hundred  in  the  woods  behind  us,"  said 
the  duke;  "seven  hundred  follow  from  Kettley,  and 
will  be  here  anon ;  behind  these,  and  further,  are  four 
hundred  more;  and  my  Lord  Foxham  hath  five  hundred 
half  a  day  from  here,  at  Holywood.  Shall  we  attend 
their  coming,  or  fall  on  ?  " 

*'My  lord,"  said  Dick,  "when  ye  hanged  these  five 
poor  rogues  ye  did  decide  the  question.  Churls  although 
they  were,  in  these  uneasy  times  they  will  be  lacked 
and  looked  for,  and  the  alarm  be  given.  Therefore,  my 
lord,  if  ye  do  count  upon  the  advantage  of  a  surprise, 
ye  have  not,  in  my  poor  opinion,  one  whole  hour  in 
front  of  you." 

"  1  do  think  so  indeed, "  returned  Crookback.  "Well, 
before  an  hour,  ye  shall  be  in  the  thick  on't,  winning 
spurs.  A  swift  man  to  Holywood,  carrying  Lord  Fox- 
ham's  signet;  another  along  the  road  to  speed  my  lag- 
gards!   Nay,  Shelton,  by  the  rood,  it  may  be  done!" 

Therewith  he  once  more  set  his  trumpet  to  his  lips 
and  blew. 

This  time  he  was  not  long  kept  waiting.  In  a  mo- 
ment the  open  space  about  the  cross  was  filled  with 
horse  and  foot.  Richard  of  Gloucester  took  his  place 
upon  the  steps,  and  despatched  messenger  after  mes- 
senger to  hasten  the  concentration  of  the  seven  hundred 
men  that  lay  hidden  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood 

257 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

among  the  woods ;  and  before  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had 
passed,  all  his  dispositions  being  taken,  he  put  himself 
at  their  head,  and  began  to  move  down  the  hill  towards 
Shoreby. 

His  plan  was  simple.  He  was  to  seize  a  quarter  of 
the  town  of  Shoreby  lying  on  the  right  hand  of  the  high 
road,  and  make  his  position  good  there  in  the  narrow 
lanes  until  his  reinforcements  followed. 

If  Lord  Risingham  chose  to  retreat,  Richard  would 
follow  upon  his  rear,  and  take  him  between  two  fires; 
or,  if  he  preferred  to  hold  the  town,  he  would  be  shut 
in  a  trap,  there  to  be  gradually  overwhelmed  by  force 
of  numbers. 

There  was  but  one  danger,  but  that  was  imminent 
and  great  —  Gloucester's  seven  hundred  might  be  rolled 
up  and  cut  to  pieces  in  the  first  encounter,  and,  to  avoid 
this,  it  was  needful  to  make  the  surprise  of  their  arrival 
as  complete  as  possible. 

The  footmen,  therefore,  were  all  once  more  taken  up 
behind  the  riders,  and  Dick  had  the  signal  honour  meted 
out  to  him  of  mounting  behind  Gloucester  himself.  For 
as  far  as  there  was  any  cover  the  troops  moved  slowly, 
and  when  they  came  near  the  end  of  the  trees  that  lined 
the  highway,  stopped  to  breathe  and  reconnoitre. 

The  sun  was  now  well  up,  shining  with  a  frosty 
brightness  out  of  a  yellow  halo,  and  right  over  against 
the  luminary,  Shoreby,  a  field  of  snowy  roofs  and  ruddy 
gables,  was  rolling  up  its  columns  of  morning  smoke. 

Gloucester  turned  round  to  Dick. 

*  *  In  that  poor  place, "  he  said,  * '  where  people  are  cook- 
ing breakfast,  either  you  shall  gain  your  spurs  and  I  be- 
gin a  life  of  mighty  honour  and  glory  in  the  world's. 

2?8 


THE  SHRILL  TRUMPET 

eye,  or  both  of  us,  as  I  conceive  it,  shall  fall  dead  and 
be  unheard  of.  Two  Richards  are  we.  Well,  then, 
Richard  Shelton,  they  shall  be  heard  about,  these  two! 
Their  swords  shall  not  ring  more  loudly  on  men's  hel- 
mets than  their  names  shall  ring  in  people's  ears." 

Dick  was  astonished  at  so  great  a  hunger  after  fame, 
expressed  with  so  great  vehemence  of  voice  and  lan- 
guage, and  he  answered  very  sensibly  and  quietly,  that, 
for  his  part,  he  promised  he  would  do  his  duty,  and 
doubted  not  of  victory  if  everyone  did  the  like. 

By  this  time  the  horses  were  well  breathed,  and  the 
leader  holding  up  his  sword  and  giving  rein,  the  whole 
troop  of  chargers  broke  into  the  gallop  and  thundered, 
with  their  double  load  of  fighting  men,  down  the  re- 
mainder of  the  hill  and  across  the  snow-covered  plain 
that  still  divided  them  from  Shoreby. 


^59 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   BATTLE   OF  SHOREBY 

The  whole  distance  to  be  crossed  was  not  above  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.  But  they  had  no  sooner  debouched 
beyond  the  cover  of  the  trees  than  they  were  aware  of 
people  fleeing  and  screaming  in  the  snowy  meadows 
upon  either  hand.  Almost  at  the  same  moment  a  great 
rumour  began  to  arise,  and  spread  and  grow  continu- 
ally louder  in  the  town ;  and  they  were  not  yet  halfway 
to  the  nearest  house  before  the  bells  began  to  ring  back- 
ward from  the  steeple. 

The  young  duke  ground  his  teeth  together.  By  these 
so  early  signals  of  alarm  he  feared  to  find  his  enemies 
prepared ;  and  if  he  failed  to  gain  a  footing  in  the  town, 
he  knew  that  his  small  party  would  soon  be  broken  and 
exterminated  in  the  open. 

In  the  town,  however,  the  Lancastrians  were  far  from 
being  in  so  good  a  posture.  It  was  as  Dick  had  said. 
The  night-guard  had  already  doffed  their  harness;  the 
rest  were  still  hanging  —  unlatched,  unbraced,  all  un- 
prepared for  battle  —  about  their  quarters;  and  in  the 
whole  of  Shoreby  there  were  not,  perhaps,  fifty  men 
full  armed,  or  fifty  chargers  ready  to  be  mounted. 

The  beating  of  the  bells,  the  terrifying  summons  of 
men  who  ran  about  the  streets  crying  and  beating  upon 
the  doors,  aroused  in  an  incredibly  short  space  at  least 

360 


THE   BATTLE  OF  SHOREBY 

two  score  out  of  that  half  hundred.  These  got  speedily 
to  horse,  and,  the  alarm  still  flying  wild  and  contrary, 
galloped  in  different  directions. 

Thus  it  befell  that,  when  Richard  of  Gloucester  reached 
the  first  house  of  Shoreby,  he  was  met  in  the  mouth  of 
the  street  by  a  mere  handful  of  lances,  whom  he  swept 
before  his  onset  as  the  storm  chases  the  bark. 

A  hundred  paces  into  the  town,  Dick  Shelton  touched 
the  duke's  arm ;  the  duke,  in  answer,  gathered  his  reins, 
put  the  shrill  trumpet  to  his  mouth,  and  blowing  a  con- 
certed point,  turned  to  the  right  hand  out  of  the  direct 
advance.  Swerving  like  a  single  rider,  his  whole  com- 
mand turned  after  him,  and,  still  at  the  full  gallop  of  the 
chargers,  swept  up  the  narrow  bye-street.  Only  the  last 
score  of  riders  drew  rein  and  faced  about  in  the  entrance ; 
the  footmen,  whom  they  carried  behind  them,  leapt  at 
the  same  instant  to  the  earth,  and  began,  some  to  bend 
their  bows,  and  others  to  break  into  and  secure  the 
houses  upon  either  hand. 

Surprised  at  this  sudden  change  of  direction,  and 
daunted  by  the  firm  front  of  the  rear-guard,  the  few 
Lancastrians,  after  a  momentary  consultation,  turned  and 
rode  farther  into  town  to  seek  for  reinforcements. 

The  quarter  of  the  town  upon  which,  by  the  advice 
of  Dick,  Richard  of  Gloucester  had  now  seized,  con- 
sisted of  five  small  streets  of  poor  and  ill-inhabited 
houses,  occupying  a  very  gentle  eminence,  and  lying 
open  towards  the  back. 

The  five  streets  being  each  secured  by  a  good  guard, 
the  reserve  would  thus  occupy  the  centre,  out  of  shot, 
and  yet  ready  to  carry  aid  wherever  it  was  needed. 

Such  was  the  poorness  of  the  neighbourhood  that 
261 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

none  of  the  Lancastrian  lords,  and  but  few  of  their  re- 
tainers, had  been  lodged  therein ;  and  the  inhabitants, 
with  one  accord,  deserted  their  houses  and  fled,  squall- 
ing, along  the  streets  or  over  garden  walls. 

In  the  centre,  where  the  five  ways  all  met,  a  some- 
what ill-favoured  alehouse  displayed  the  sign  of  the 
Chequers;  and  here  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  chose  his 
headquarters  for  the  day. 

To  Dick  he  assigned  the  guard  of  one  of  the  five 
streets. 

"Go,"hesaid,  *' win  your  spurs.  Win  glory  for  me : 
one  Richard  for  another.  I  tell  you,  if  I  rise,  ye  shall  rise 
by  the  same  ladder.  Go,"  he  added,  shaking  him  by 
the  hand. 

But,  as  soon  as  Dick  was  gone,  he  turned  to  a  little 
shabby  archer  at  his  elbow. 

*'Go,  Dutton,  and  that  right  speedily,"  he  added. 
"Follow  that  lad.  If  ye  find  him  faithful,  ye  answer 
for  his  safety,  a  head  for  a  head.  Woe  unto  you,  if  ye 
return  without  him !  But  if  he  be  faithless  —  or,  for  one 
instant,  ye  misdoubt  him  —  stab  him  from  behind." 

In  the  meanwhile  Dick  hastened  to  secure  his  post. 
The  street  he  had  to  guard  was  very  narrow,  and  closely 
lined  with  houses,  which  projected  and  overhung  the 
roadway ;  but  narrow  and  dark  as  it  was,  since  it  opened 
upon  the  market-place  of  the  town,  the  main  issue  of 
the  battle  would  probably  fall  to  be  decided  on  that  spot. 

The  market-place  was  full  of  townspeople  fleeing  in 
disorder;  but  there  was  as  yet  no  sign  of  any  foeman 
ready  to  attack,  and  Dick  judged  he  had  some  time  be- 
fore him  to  make  ready  his  defence. 

The  two  houses  at  the  end  stood  deserted,  with  open 
262 


THE   BATTLE   OF  SHOREBY 

doors,  as  the  inhabitants  had  left  them  in  their  flight, 
and  from  these  he  had  the  furniture  hastily  tossed  forth 
and  piled  into  a  barrier  in  the  entry  of  the  lane.  A 
hundred  men  were  placed  at  his  disposal,  and  of  these 
he  threw  the  more  part  into  the  houses,  where  they 
might  lie  in  shelter  and  deliver  their  arrows  from  the 
windows.  With  the  rest,  under  his  own  immediate 
eye,  he  lined  the  barricade. 

Meanwhile  the  utmost  uproar  and  confusion  had  con- 
tinued to  prevail  throughout  the  town ;  and  what  with 
the  hurried  clashing  of  bells,  the  sounding  of  trumpets, 
the  swift  movement  of  bodies  of  horse,  the  cries  of  the 
commanders,  and  the  shrieks  of  women,  the  noise  was 
almost  deafening  to  the  ear.  Presently,  little  by  little, 
the  tumult  began  to  subside;  and  soon  after,  files  of 
men  in  armour  and  bodies  of  archers  began  to  assem- 
ble and  form  in  line  of  battle  in  the  market-place. 

A  large  portion  of  this  body  were  in  murrey  and  blue, 
and  in  the  mounted  knight  who  ordered  their  array  Dick 
recognised  Sir  Daniel  Brackley. 

Then  there  befell  a  long  pause,  which  was  followed 
by  the  almost  simultaneous  sounding  of  four  trumpets 
from  four  different  quarters  of  the  town.  A  fifth  rang 
in  answer  from  the  market-place,  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment the  files  began  to  move,  and  a  shower  of  arrows 
rattled  about  the  barricade,  and  sounded  like  blows 
upon  the  walls  of  the  two  flanking  houses. 

The  attack  had  begun,  by  a  common  signal,  on  all  the 
five  issues  of  the  quarter.  Gloucester  was  beleaguered 
upon  every  side;  and  Dick  judged,  if  he  would  make 
good  his  post,  he  must  rely  entirely  on  the  hundred 
men  of  his  command. 

363 


THE   BLACK   ARROW 

Seven  volleys  of  arrows  followed  one  upon  the  other, 
and  in  the  very  thick  of  the  discharges  Dick  was  touched 
from  behind  upon  the  arm,  and  found  a  page  holding 
out  to  him  a  leathern  jack,  strengthened  with  bright 
plates  of  mail. 

*'It  is  from  my  Lord  of  Gloucester,"  said  the  page. 
"He  hath  observed,  Sir  Richard,  that  ye  went  un- 
armed." 

Dick,  with  a  glow  at  his  heart  at  being  so  addressed, 
got  to  his  feet  and,  with  the  assistance  of  the  page, 
donned  the  defensive  coat.  Even  as  he  did  so,  two 
arrows  rattled  harmlessly  upon  the  plates,  and  a  third 
struck  down  the  page,  mortally  wounded,  at  his  feet. 

Meantime  the  whole  body  of  the  enemy  had  been 
steadily  drawing  nearer  across  the  market-place;  and 
by  this  time  were  so  close  at  hand  that  Dick  gave  the 
order  to  return  their  shot.  Immediately,  from  behind 
the  barrier  and  from  the  windows  of  the  houses,  a  coun- 
terblast of  arrows  sped,  carrying  death.  But  the  Lan- 
castrians, as  if  they  had  but  waited  for  a  signal,  shouted 
loudly  in  answer;  and  began  to  close  at  a  run  upon  the 
barrier,  the  horsemen  still  hanging  back,  with  visors 
lowered. 

Then  followed  an  obstinate  and  deadly  struggle,  hand 
to  hand.  The  assailants,  wielding  their  falchions  with 
one  hand,  strove  with  the  other  to  drag  down  the  struc- 
ture of  the  barricade.  On  the  other  side,  the  parts  were 
reversed;  and  the  defenders  exposed  themselves  like 
madmen  to  protect  their  rampart.  So  for  some  minutes 
the  contest  raged  almost  in  silence,  friend  and  foe  falling 
one  upon  another.  But  it  is  always  the  easier  to  de- 
stroy; and  when  a  single  note  upon  the  tucket  recalled 

264 


THE   BATTLE  OF  SHOREBY 

the  attacking  party  from  this  desperate  service,  much 
of  the  barricade  had  been  removed  piecemeal,  and  the 
whole  fabric  had  sunk  to  half  its  height,  and  tottered  to 
a  general  fall. 

And  now  the  footmen  in  the  market-place  fell  back, 
at  a  run,  on  every  side.  The  horsemen,  who  had  been 
standing  in  a  line  two  deep,  wheeled  suddenly,  and 
made  their  flank  into  their  front;  and  as  swift  as  a  strik- 
ing adder,  the  long,  steel-clad  column  was  launched 
upon  the  ruinous  barricade. 

Of  the  first  two  horsemen,  one  fell,  rider  and  steed, 
and  was  ridden  down  by  his  companions.  The  second 
leaped  clean  upon  the  summit  of  the  rampart,  trans- 
piercing an  archer  with  his  lance.  Almost  in  the  same 
instant  he  was  dragged  from  the  saddle  and  his  horse 
despatched. 

And  then  the  full  weight  and  impetus  of  the  charge 
burst  upon  and  scattered  the  defenders.  The  men-at- 
arms,  surmounting  their  fallen  comrades,  and  carried 
onward  by  the  fury  of  their  onslaught,  dashed  through 
Dick's  broken  line  and  poured  thundering  up  the  lane 
beyond,  as  a  stream  bestrides  and  pours  across  a  broken 
dam. 

Yet  was  the  fight  not  over.  Still,  in  the  narrow  jaws 
of  the  entrance,  Dick  and  a  few  survivors  plied  their 
bills  like  woodmen;  and  already,  across  the  width  of 
the  passage,  there  had  been  formed  a  second,  a  higher, 
and  a  more  effectual  rampart  of  fallen  men  and  disem- 
bowelled horses,  lashing  in  the  agonies  of  death. 

Baffled  by  this  fresh  obstacle,  the  remainder  of  the 
cavalry  fell  back;  and  as,  at  the  sight  of  this  movement 
the  flight  of  arrows  redoubled  from  the  casements  of 

265 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

the  houses,  their  retreat  had,  for  a  moment,  almost  de- 
generated  into  flight. 

Almost  at  the  same  time,  those  who  had  crossed  the 
barricade  and  charged  farther  up  the  street,  being  met 
before  the  door  of  the  Chequers  by  the  formidable 
hunchback  and  the  whole  reserve  of  the  Yorkists,  be- 
gan to  come  scattering  backward,  in  the  excess  of  dis- 
array and  terror. 

Dick  and  his  fellows  faced  about,  fresh  men  poured 
out  of  the  houses;  a  cruel  blast  of  arrows  met  the  fugi- 
tives full  in  the  face,  while  Gloucester  was  already  rid- 
ing down  their  rear;  in  the  inside  of  a  minute  and  a 
half  there  was  no  living  Lancastrian  in  the  street. 

Then,  and  not  till  then,  did  Dick  hold  up  his  reeking 
blade  and  give  the  word  to  cheer. 

Meanwhile  Gloucester  dismounted  from  his  horse 
and  came  forward  to  inspect  the  post.  His  face  was  as 
pale  as  linen ;  but  his  eyes  shone  in  his  head  like  some 
strange  jewel,  and  his  voice,  when  he  spoke,  was 
hoarse  and  broken  with  the  exultation  of  battle  and 
success.  He  looked  at  the  rampart,  which  neither 
friend  nor  foe  could  now  approach  without  precaution, 
so  fiercely  did  the  horses  struggle  in  the  throes  of  death, 
and  at  the  sight  of  that  great  carnage  he  smiled  upon 
one  side. 

"Despatch  these  horses,"  he  said;  ''they  keep  you 
from  your  vantage.  Richard  Shelton,"  he  added,  "ye 
have  pleased  me.     Kneel." 

The  Lancastrians  had  already  resumed  their  archery, 
and  the  shafts  fell  thick  in  the  mouth  of  the  street ;  but 
the  duke,  minding  them  not  at  all,  deliberately  drew' his 
sword  and  dubbed  Richard  a  knight  upon  the  spot. 

266 


THE   BATTLE   OF  SHOREBY 

"And  now,  Sir  Richard,"  he  continued,  "if  that  ye 
see  Lord  Risingham,  send  me  an  express  upon  the  in- 
stant. Were  it  your  last  man,  let  me  hear  of  it  incon- 
tinently. I  had  rather  venture  the  post  than  lose  my 
stroke  at  him.  For  mark  me,  all  of  ye,"  he  added,  rais- 
ing his  voice,  "if  Earl  Risingham  fall  by  another  hand 
than  mine,  I  shall  count  this  victory  a  defeat." 

"  My  lord  duke, "  said  one  of  his  attendants,  "  is  your 
grace  not  weary  of  exposing  his  dear  life  unneedfully  ? 
Why  tarry  we  here  ?" 

"Catesby,"  returned  the  duke,  "here  is  the  battle, 
not  elsewhere.  The  rest  are  but  feigned  onslaughts. 
Here  must  we  vanquish.  And  for  the  exposure  —  if  ye 
were  an  ugly  hunchback,  and  the  children  gecked  at 
you  upon  the  street,  ye  would  count  your  body  cheaper, 
and  an  hour  of  glory  worth  a  life.  Howbeit,  if  ye  will, 
let  us  ride  on  and  visit  the  other  posts.  Sir  Richard 
here,  my  namesake,  he  shall  still  hold  this  entry,  where 
he  wadeth  to  the  ankles  in  hot  blood.  Him  can  we 
trust.  But  mark  it.  Sir  Richard,  ye  are  not  yet  done. 
The  worst  is  yet  to  ward.     Sleep  not." 

He  came  right  up  to  young  Shelton,  looking  him  hard 
in  the  eyes,  and  taking  his  hand  in  both  of  his,  gave  it 
so  extreme  a  squeeze  that  the  blood  had  nearly  spurted. 
Dick  quailed  before  his  eyes.  The  insane  excitement, 
the  courage,  and  the  cruelty  that  he  read  therein  filled 
him  with  dismay  about  the  future.  This  young  duke's 
was  indeed  a  gallant  spirit,  to  ride  foremost  in  the  ranks 
of  war;  but  after  the  battle,  in  the  days  of  peace  and  in 
the  circle  of  his  trusted  friends,  that  mind,  it  was  to  be 
dreaded,  would  continue  to  bring  forth  the  fruits  of 
death. 

26^ 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   BATTLE   OF  SHOREBY 
{Concluded ) 

Dick,  once  more  left  to  his  own  counsels,  began  to 
look  about  him.  The  arrow-shot  had  somewhat  slack- 
ened. On  all  sides  the  enemy  were  falling  back ;  and 
the  greater  part  of  the  market-place  was  now  left  empty, 
the  snow  here  trampled  into  orange  mud,  there  splashed 
with  gore,  scattered  all  over  with  dead  men  and  horses, 
and  bristling  thick  with  feathered  arrows. 

On  his  own  side  the  loss  had  been  cruel.  The  jaws 
of  the  little  street  and  the  ruins  of  the  barricade  were 
heaped  with  the  dead  and  dying;  and  out  of  the  hun- 
dred men  with  whom  he  had  begun  the  battle,  there 
were  not  seventy  left  who  could  still  stand  to  arms. 

At  the  same  time,  the  day  was  passing.  The  first  re- 
inforcements might  be  looked  for  to  arrive  at  any  mo- 
ment ;  and  the  Lancastrians,  already  shaken  by  the  re- 
sult of  their  desperate  but  unsuccessful  onslaught,  were 
in  an  ill  temper  to  support  a  fresh  invader. 

There  was  a  dial  in  the  wall  of  one  of  the  two  flank- 
ing houses ;  and  this,  in  the  frosty  winter  sunshine,  in- 
dicated ten  of  the  forenoon. 

Dick  turned  to  the  man  who  was  at  his  elbow,  a  little 
insignificant  archer,  binding  a  cut  in  his  arm. 

*Mt  was  well  fought,"  he  said,  **and,  by  my  sooth, 
they  will  not  charge  us  twice." 

268 


THE   BATTLE  OF  SHOREBY 

"Sir,"  said  the  little  archer,  *'ye  have  fought  right 
well  for  York,  and  better  for  yourself.  Never  hath  man 
in  so  brief  space  prevailed  so  greatly  on  the  duke's  affec- 
tions. That  he  should  have  entrusted  such  a  post  to 
one  he  knew  not  is  a  marvel.  But  look  to  your  head, 
Sir  Richard !  If  ye  be  vanquished  —  ay,  if  ye  give  way 
one  foot's  breadth  —  axe  or  cord  shall  punish  it;  and  I 
am  set  if  ye  do  aught  doubtful,  I  will  tell  you  honestly, 
here  to  stab  you  from  behind." 

Dick  looked  at  the  little  man  in  amaze. 

"You!"  he  cried.     "And  from  behind!  " 

"It  is  right  so,"  returned  the  archer;  "and  because  I 
like  not  the  affiiir  I  tell  it  you.  Ye  must  make  the  post 
good.  Sir  Richard,  at  your  peril.  O,  our  Crookback  is 
a  bold  blade  and  a  good  warrior;  but,  whether  in  cold 
blood  or  in  hot,  he  will  have  all  things  done  exact  to 
his  commandment.  If  any  fail  or  hinder,  they  shall  die 
the  death." 

"Now,  by  the  saints!"  cried  Richard,  "is  this  so? 
And  will  men  follow  such  a  leader?" 

"Nay,  they  follow  him  gleefully,"  replied  the  other; 
"for  if  he  be  exact  to  punish,  he  is  most  open-handed 
to  reward.  And  if  he  spare  not  the  blood  and  sweat  of 
others,  he  is  ever  liberal  of  his  own,  still  in  the  first  front 
of  battle,  still  the  last  to  sleep.  He  will  go  far,  will 
Crookback  Dick  o'  Gloucester!  " 

The  young  knight,  if  he  had  before  been  brave  and 
vigilant,  was  now  all  the  more  inclined  to  watchfulness 
and  courage.  His  sudden  favour,  he  began  to  perceive, 
had  brought  perils  in  its  train.  And  he  turned  from  the 
archer,  and  once  more  scanned  anxiously  the  market- 
place.    It  lay  empty  as  before. 

269 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

"  I  like  not  this  quietude, "  he  said.  * '  Doubtless  they 
prepare  us  some  surprise." 

And,  as  if  in  answer  to  his  remark,  the  archers  began 
once  more  to  advance  against  the  barricade,  and  the  ar- 
rows to  fall  thick.  But  there  was  something  hesitating 
in  the  attack.  They  came  not  on  roundly,  but  seemed 
rather  to  await  a  further  signal. 

Dick  looked  uneasily  about  him,  spying  for  a  hidden 
danger.  And  sure  enough,  about  halfway  up  the  little 
street,  a  door  was  suddenly  opened  from  within,  and  the 
house  continued,  for  some  seconds,  and  both  by  door 
and  window,  to  disgorge  a  torrent  of  Lancastrian  arch- 
ers. These,  as  they  leaped  down,  hurriedly  stood  to 
their  ranks,  bent  their  bows,  and  proceeded  to  pour 
upon  Dick's  rear  a  flight  of  arrows. 

At  the  same  time,  the  assailants  in  the  market-place 
redoubled  their  shot,  and  began  to  close  in  stoutly  upon 
the  barricade. 

Dick  called  down  his  whole  command  out  of  the 
houses,  and  facing  them  both  ways,  and  encouraging 
their  valour  both  by  word  and  gesture,  returned  as  best  he 
could  the  double  shower  of  shafts  that  fell  about  his  post. 

Meanwhile  house  after  house  was  opened  in  the  street, 
and  the  Lancastrians  continued  to  pour  out  of  the  doors 
and  leap  down  from  the  windows,  shouting  victory, 
until  the  number  of  enemies  upon  Dick's  rear  was  al- 
most equal  to  the  number  in  his  face.  It  was  plain  that 
he  could  hold  the  post  no  longer;  what  was  worse, 
even  if  he  could  have  held  it,  it  had  now  become  use- 
less ;  and  the  whole  Yorkist  army  lay  in  a  posture  of 
helplessness  upon  the  brink  of  a  complete  disaster. 

The  men  behind  him  formed  the  vital  flaw  in  the  gen- 
270 


THE   BATTLE   OF  SHOREBY 

eral  defence ;  and  it  was  upon  these  that  Dick  turned, 
charging  at  the  head  of  his  men.  So  vigorous  was  the 
attack,  that  the  Lancastrian  archers  gave  ground  and 
staggered,  and,  at  last,  breaking  their  ranks,  began  to 
crowd  back  into  the  houses  from  which  they  had  so 
recently  and  so  vaingloriously  sallied. 

Meanwhile  the  men  from  the  market-place  had 
swarmed  across  the  undefended  barricade,  and  fell  on 
hotly  upon  the  other  side;  and  Dick  must  once  again 
face  about,  and  proceed  to  drive  them  back.  Once 
again  the  spirit  of  his  men  prevailed ;  they  cleared  the 
street  in  a  triumphant  style,  but  even  as  they  did  so  the 
others  issued  again  out  of  the  houses,  and  took  them,  a 
third  time,  upon  the  rear. 

The  Yorkists  began  to  be  scattered;  several  times 
Dick  found  himself  alone  among  his  foes  and  plying  his 
bright  sword  for  life ;  several  times  he  was  conscious 
of  a  hurt.  And  meanwhile  the  fight  swayed  to  and  fro 
in  the  street  without  determinate  result. 

Suddenly  Dick  was  aware  of  a  great  trumpeting  about 
the  outskirts  of  the  town.  The  war-cry  of  York  began 
to  be  rolled  up  to  heaven,  as  by  many  and  triumphant 
voices.  And  at  the  same  time  the  men  in  front  of  him 
began  to  give  ground  rapidly,  streaming  out  of  the  street 
and  back  upon  the  market-place.  Some  one  gave  the 
word  to  fly.  Trumpets  were  blown  distractedly,  some 
for  a  rally,  some  to  charge.  It  was  plain  that  a  great 
blow  had  been  struck,  and  the  Lancastrians  were 
thrown,  at  least  for  the  moment,  into  full  disorder,  and 
some  degree  of  panic. 

And  then,  like  a  theatre  trick,  there  followed  the  last 
act  of  Shoreby  Battle.     The  men  in  front  of  Richard 

271 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

turned  tail,  like  a  dog  that  has  been  whistled  home,  and 
fled  like  the  wind.  At  the  same  moment  there  came 
through  the  market-place  a  storm  of  horsemen,  fleeing 
and  pursuing,  the  Lancastrians  turning  back  to  strike 
with  the  sword,  the  Yorkists  riding  them  down  at  the 
point  of  the  lance. 

Conspicuous  in  the  mellay,  Dick  beheld  the  Crook- 
back.  He  was  already  giving  a  foretaste  of  that  furi- 
ous valour  and  skill  to  cut  his  way  across  the  ranks  of 
war,  which,  years  afterwards  upon  the  field  of  Bos- 
worth,  and  when  he  was  stained  with  crimes,  almost 
sufficed  to  change  the  fortunes  of  the  day  and  the  des- 
tiny of  the  English  throne.  Evading,  striking,  riding 
down,  he  so  forced  and  so  manoeuvred  his  strong  horse, 
so  aptly  defended  himself,  and  so  liberally  scattered 
death  to  his  opponents,  that  he  was  now  far  ahead  of 
the  foremost  of  his  knights,  hewing  his  way,  with  the 
truncheon  of  a  bloody  sword,  to  where  Lord  Risingham 
was  rallying  the  bravest.  A  moment  more  and  they 
had  met;  the  tall,  splendid,  and  famous  warrior  against 
the  deformed  and  sickly  boy. 

Yet  Shelton  had  never  a  doubt  of  the  result;  and 
when  the  fight  next  opened  for  a  moment,  the  figure  of 
the  earl  had  disappeared ;  but  still,  in  the  first  of  the 
danger,  Crookback  Dick  was  launching  his  big  horse 
and  plying  the  truncheon  of  his  sword. 

Thus,  by  Shelton's  courage  in  holding  the  mouth  of 
the  street  against  the  first  attack,  and  by  the  opportune 
arrival  of  his  seven  hundred  reinforcements,  the  lad, 
who  was  afterwards  to  be  handed  down  to  the  execra- 
tion of  posterity  under  the  name  of  Richard  III.,  had 
won  his  first  considerable  fight. 

272 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  SACK   OF  SHOREBY 

There  was  not  a  foe  left  within  striking  distance;  and 
Dick,  as  he  looked  ruefully  about  him  on  the  remainder 
of  his  gallant  force,  began  to  count  the  cost  of  victory. 
He  was  himself,  now  that  the  danger  was  ended,  so  stiff 
and  sore,  so  bruised  and  cut  and  broken,  and,  above  all, 
so  utterly  exhausted  by  his  desperate  and  unremitting 
labours  in  the  fight,  that  he  seemed  incapable  of  any 
fresh  exertion. 

But  this  was  not  yet  the  hour  for  repose.  Shoreby 
had  been  taken  by  assault;  and  though  an  open  town, 
and  not  in  any  manner  to  be  charged  with  the  resistance, 
it  was  plain  that  these  rough  fighters  would  be  not  less 
rough  now  that  the  fight  was  over,  and  that  the  more 
horrid  part  of  war  would  fall  to  be  enacted.  Richard 
of  Gloucester  was  not  the  captain  to  protect  the  citizens 
from  his  infuriated  soldiery ;  and  even  if  he  had  the  will, 
it  might  be  questioned  if  he  had  the  power. 

It  was,  therefore,  Dick's  business  to  find  and  to  pro- 
tect Joanna;  and  with  that  end  he  looked  about  him 
at  the  faces  of  his  men.  The  three  or  four  who  seemed 
likeliest  to  be  obedient  and  to  keep  sober  he  drew  aside; 
and  promising  them  a  rich  reward  and  a  special  recom- 
mendation to  the  duke,  led  them  across  the  market- 

373 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

place,  now  empty  of  horsemen,  and  into  the  streets 
upon  the  further  side. 

Every  here  and  there  small  combats  of  from  two  to 
a  dozen  still  raged  upon  the  open  street;  here  and  there 
a  house  was  being  besieged,  the  defenders  throwing  out 
stools  and  tables  on  the  heads  of  the  assailants.  The 
snow  was  strewn  with  arms  and  corpses ;  but  except 
for  these  partial  combats  the  streets  were  deserted,  and 
the  houses,  some  standing  open,  and  some  shuttered  and 
barricaded,  had  for  the  most  part  ceased  to  give  out 
smoke. 

Dick,  threading  the  skirts  of  these  skirmishers,  led  his 
followers  briskly  in  the  direction  of  the  abbey  church ; 
but  when  he  came  the  length  of  the  main  street,  a  cry 
of  horror  broke  from  his  lips.  Sir  Daniel's  great  house 
had  been  carried  by  assault.  The  gates  hung  in  splinters 
from  the  hinges,  and  a  double  throng  kept  pouring  in  and 
out  through  the  entrance,  seeking  and  carrying  booty. 
Meanwhile,  in  the  upper  storeys,  some  resistance  was 
still  being  offered  to  the  pillagers;  for  just  as  Dick 
came  within  eyeshot  of  the  building,  a  casement  was 
burst  open  from  within,  and  a  poor  wretch  in  murrey 
and  blue,  screaming  and  resisting,  was  forced  through 
the  embrasure  and  tossed  into  the  street  below. 

The  most  sickening  apprehension  fell  upon  Dick.  He 
ran  forward  like  one  possessed,  forced  his  way  into  the 
house  among  the  foremost,  and  mounted  without  pause 
to  the  chamber  on  the  third  floor  where  he  had  last  parted 
from  Joanna.  It  was  a  mere  wreck ;  the  furniture  had 
been  overthrown,  the  cupboards  broken  open,  and  in 
one  place  a  trailing  corner  of  the  arras  lay  smouldering  on 
the  embers  of  the  fire. 

274 


THE  SACK  OF  SHOREBY 

Dick,  almost  without  thinking,  trod  out  the  incipient 
conflagration,  and  then  stood  bewildered.  Sir  Daniel, 
Sir  Oliver,  Joanna,  all  were  gone;  but  whether  butchered 
in  the  rout  or  safe  escaped  from  Shoreby,  who  should 
say? 

He  caught  a  passing  archer  by  the  tabard. 

**  Fellow,"  he  asked,  "  were  ye  here  when  this  house 
was  taken  ?  " 

"  Let  be,"  said  the  archer.  '*  A  murrain!  let  be,  or  I 
strike." 

"  Hark  ye,"  returned  Richard,  **  two  can  play  at  that. 
Stand  and  be  plain." 

But  the  man,  flushed  with  drink  and  battle,  struck 
Dick  upon  the  shoulder  with  one  hand,  while  with  the 
other  he  twitched  away  his  garment.  Thereupon  the 
full  wrath  of  the  young  leader  burst  from  his  control. 
He  seized  the  fellow  in  his  strong  embrace,  and  crushed 
him  on  the  plates  of  his  mailed  bosom  like  a  child;  then, 
holding  him  at  arm's  length,  he  bid  him  speak  as  he 
valued  life. 

"  1  pray  you  mercy !  "  gasped  the  archer.  '*  An  I  had 
thought  ye  were  so  angry  I  would  'a'  been  charier  of 
crossing  you.     I  was  here  indeed." 

"  Know  ye  Sir  Daniel  ?"  pursued  Dick. 

''Well  do  I  know  him,"  returned  the  man. 

**  Was  he  in  the  mansion  ?  " 

**  Ay,  sir,  he  was,"  answered  the  archer;  "but  even 
as  we  entered  by  the  yard  gate  he  rode  forth  by  the 
garden." 

''Alone?"  cried  Dick. 

"  He  may  'a'  had  a  score  of  lances  with  him,"  said  the 
man. 

97« 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

**  Lances!    No  women,  then  ?"  asked  Shelton. 

*' Troth,  I  saw  not,"  said  the  archer.  **But  there 
were  none  in  the  house,  if  that  be  your  quest." 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Dick.  *'  Here  is  a  piece  for  your 
pains."  But  groping  in  his  wallet,  Dick  found  nothing. 
** Inquire  for  me  to-morrow,"  he  added — "Richard 

Shelt Sir  Richard  Shelton,"  he  corrected,   '*and  I 

will  see  you  handsomely  rewarded." 

And  then  an  idea  struck  Dick.  He  hastily  descended 
to  the  courtyard,  ran  with  all  his  might  across  the  gar- 
den, and  came  to  the  great  door  of  the  church.  It  stood 
wide  open ;  within,  every  corner  of  the  pavement  was 
crowded  with  fugitive  burghers,  surrounded  by  their 
families  and  laden  with  the  most  precious  of  their  pos- 
sessions, while,  at  the  high  altar,  priests  in  full  canonicals 
were  imploring  the  mercy  of  God.  Even  as  Dick  entered, 
the  loud  chorus  began  to  thunder  in  the  vaulted  roofs. 

He  hurried  through  the  groups  of  refugees,  and  came 
to  the  door  of  the  stair  that  led  into  the  steeple.  And 
here  a  tall  churchman  stepped  before  him  and  arrested 
his  advance. 

"Whither,  my  son?"  he  asked,  severely. 

"My  father,"  answered  Dick,  "I  am  here  upon  an 
errand  of  expedition.  Stay  me  not.  I  command  here 
for  my  Lord  of  Gloucester." 

"For  my  Lord  of  Gloucester?"  repeated  the  priest. 
"  Hath,  then,  the  battle  gone  so  sore  ?  " 

"The  battle,  father,  is  at  an  end,  Lancaster  clean 
sped,  my  Lord  of  Risingham  —  Heaven  rest  him !  —  left 
upon  the  field.  And  now,  with  your  good  leave,  I  fol- 
low mine  affairs."  And  thrusting  on  one  side  the  priest, 
who  seemed  stupefied  at  the  news,  Dick  pushed  opea 

276 


THE  SACK  OF  SHOREBY 

the  door  and  rattled  up  the  stairs  four  at  a  bound,  and 
without  pause  or  stumble,  till  he  stepped  upon  the  open 
platform  at  the  top. 

Shoreby  Church  tower  not  only  commanded  the  town, 
as  in  a  map,  but  looked  far,  on  both  sides,  over  sea  and 
land.  It  was  now  near  upon  noon ;  the  day  exceeding 
bright,  the  snow  dazzling.  And  as  Dick  looked  around 
him,  he  could  measure  the  consequences  of  the  battle. 

A  confused,  growling  uproar  reached  him  from  the 
streets,  and  now  and  then,  but  very  rarely,  the  clash  of 
steel.  Not  a  ship,  not  so  much  as  a  skiff  remained  in 
harbour;  but  the  sea  was  dotted  with  sails  and  row- 
boats  laden  with  fugitives.  On  shore,  too,  the  surface 
of  the  snowy  meadows  was  broken  up  with  bands  of 
horsemen,  some  cutting  their  way  towards  the  borders 
of  the  forest,  others,  who  were  doubtless  of  the  Yorkist 
side,  stoutly  interposing  and  beating  them  back  upon 
the  town.  Over  all  the  open  ground  there  lay  a  pro- 
digious quantity  of  fallen  men  and  horses,  clearly  de- 
fined upon  the  snow. 

To  complete  the  picture,  those  of  the  foot  soldiers  as 
had  not  found  place  upon  a  ship  still  kept  up  an  archery 
combat  on  the  borders  of  the  port,  and  from  the  cover 
of  the  shoreside  taverns.  In  that  quarter,  also,  one  or 
two  houses  had  been  fired,  and  the  smoke  towered  high 
in  the  frosty  sunlight,  and  blew  off  to  sea  in  voluminous 
folds. 

Already  close  upon  the  margin  of  the  woods,  and 
somewhat  in  the  line  of  Holy  wood,  one  particular  clump 
of  fleeing  horsemen  riveted  the  attention  of  the  young 
watcher  on  the  tower.  It  was  fairly  numerous ;  in  no 
other  quarter  of  the  field  did  so  many  Lancastrians  still 

377 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

hold  together;  thus  they  had  left  a  wide,  discoloured 
wake  upon  the  snow,  and  Dick  was  able  to  trace  them 
step  by  step  from  where  they  had  left  the  town. 

While  Dick  stood  watching  them,  they  had  gained, 
unopposed,  the  first  fringe  of  the  leafless  forest,  and, 
turning  a  little  from  their  direction,  the  sun  fell  for  a 
moment  full  on  their  array,  as  it  was  relieved  against 
the  dusky  wood. 

*  *  Murrey  and  blue !  "  cried  Dick.  *  *  I  swear  it — mur- 
rey and  blue! " 

The  next  moment  he  was  descending  the  stairway. 

It  was  now  his  business  to  seek  out  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  who  alone,  in  the  disorder  of  the  forces, 
might  be  able  to  supply  him  with  a  sufficiency  of  men. 
The  fighting  in  the  main  town  was  now  practically  at 
an  end;  and  as  Dick  ran  hither  and  thither,  seeking  the 
commander,  the  streets  were  thick  with  wandering 
soldiers,  some  laden  with  more  booty  than  they  could 
well  stagger  under,  others  shouting  drunk.  None  of 
them,  when  questioned,  had  the  least  notion  of  the 
duke's  whereabouts ;  and,  at  last,  it  was  by  sheer  good 
fortune  that  Dick  found  him,  where  he  sat  in  the  saddle 
directing  operations  to  dislodge  the  archers  from  the 
harbour  side. 

"Sir  Richard  Shelton,  ye  are  well  found,"  he  said. 
"  I  owe  you  one  thing  that  I  value  little,  my  life ;  and  one 
that  I  can  never  pay  you  for,  this  victory.  Catesby,  if  I 
had  ten  such  captains  as  Sir  Richard,  I  would  march 
forthright  on  London.  But  now,  sir,  claim  your  re- 
ward." 

"Freely,  my  lord,"  said  Dick,  "freely  and  loudly. 
One  hath  escaped  to  whom  I  owe  some  grudges,  and 

278 


THE  SACK  OF  SHOREBY 

taken  with  him  one  whom  I  owe  love  and  service. 
Give  me,  then,  fifty  lances,  that  1  may  pursue;  and  for 
any  obligation  that  your  graciousness  is  pleased  to  allow, 
it  shall  be  clean  discharged." 

"How  call  ye  him  ?"  inquired  the  duke. 

"Sir  Daniel  Brackley,"  answered  Richard. 

"Out  upon  him,  double-face!"  cried  Gloucester. 
"  Here  is  no  reward.  Sir  Richard ;  here  is  fresh  service 
offered,  and,  if  that  ye  bring  his  head  to  me,  a  fresh  debt 
upon  my  conscience.  Catesby,  get  him  these  lances; 
and  you,  sir,  bethink  ye,  in  the  meanwhile,  what  plea- 
sure, honour,  or  profit  it  shall  be  mine  to  give  you." 

Just  then  the  Yorkist  skirmishers  carried  one  of  the 
shoreside  taverns,  swarming  in  upon  it  on  three  sides, 
and  driving  out  or  taking  its  defenders.  Crookback 
Dick  was  pleased  to  cheer  the  exploit,  and  pushing  his 
horse  a  little  nearer,  called  to  see  the  prisoners. 

There  were  four  or  five  of  them  —  two  men  of  my 
Lord  Shoreby's  and  one  of  Lord  Risingham's  among  the 
number,  and  last,  but  in  Dick's  eyes  not  least,  a  tall, 
shambling,  grizzled  old  shipman,  between  drunk  and 
sober,  and  with  a  dog  whimpering  and  jumping  at  his 
heels. 

The  young  duke  passed  them  for  a  moment  under  a 
severe  review. 

"  Good,"  he  said.     "  Hang  them." 

And  he  turned  the  other  way  to  watch  the  progress 
of  the  fight. 

"  My  lord,"  said  Dick,  "so  please  you,  I  have  found 
my  reward.  Grant  me  the  life  and  liberty  of  yon  old 
shipman." 

Gloucester  turned  and  looked  the  speaker  in  the  face. 
279 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

"Sir  Richard,"  he  said,  "I  make  not  war  with  pea- 
cock's feathers,  but  steel  shafts.  Those  that  are  mine 
enemies  I  slay,  and  that  without  excuse  or  favour.  For, 
bethink  ye,  in  this  realm  of  England,  that  is  so  torn  in 
pieces,  there  is  not  a  man  of  mine  but  hath  a  brother  or 
a  friend  upon  the  other  party.  If,  then,  I  did  begin  to 
grant  these  pardons,  I  might  sheathe  my  sword." 

"  It  may  be  so,  my  lord;  and  yet  I  will  be  overbold, 
and,  at  the  risk  of  your  disfavour,  recall  your  lordship's 
promise,"  replied  Dick. 

Richard  of  Gloucester  flushed. 

"  Mark  it  right  well,"  he  said,  harshly.  '*  I  love  not 
mercy,  nor  yet  mercymongers.  Ye  have  this  day  laid 
the  foundations  of  high  fortune.  If  ye  oppose  to  me 
my  word,  which  I  have  plighted,  I  will  yield.  But,  by 
the  glory  of  heaven,  there  your  favour  dies !  " 

''Mine  is  the  loss,"  said  Dick. 

**Give  him  his  sailor,"  said  the  duke;  and  wheeling 
his  horse,  he  turned  his  back  upon  young  Shelton. 

Dick  was  nor  glad  nor  sorry.  He  had  seen  too  much 
of  the  young  duke  to  set  great  store  on  his  affection; 
and  the  origin  and  growth  of  his  own  favour  had  been 
too  flimsy  and  too  rapid  to  inspire  much  confidence. 
One  thing  alone  he  feared  —  that  the  vindictive  leader 
might  revoke  the  offer  of  the  lances.  But  here  he  did 
justice  neither  to  Gloucester's  honour  (such  as  it  was) 
nor,  above  all,  to  his  decision.  If  he  had  once  judged 
Dick  to  be  the  right  man  to  pursue  Sir  Daniel,  he  was 
not  one  to  change;  and  he  soon  proved  it  by  shouting 
after  Catesby  to  be  speedy,  for  the  paladin  was  wait- 
ing. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Dick  turned  to  the  old  shipman, 
280 


THE  SACK   OF  SHOREBY 

who  had  seemed  equally  indifferent  to  his  condemna- 
tion and  to  his  subsequent  release. 

"  Arblaster,"  said  Dick,  *'l  have  done  you  ill;  but 
now,  by  the  rood,  1  think  1  have  cleared  the  score." 

But  the  old  skipper  only  looked  upon  him  dully  and 
held  his  peace. 

"  Come,"  continued  Dick,  **a  life  is  a  life,  old  shrew, 
and  it  is  more  than  ships  or  liquor.  Say  ye  forgive  me; 
for  if  your  life  be  worth  nothing  to  you,  it  hath  cost 
me  the  beginnings  of  my  fortune.  Come,  I  have  paid 
for  it  dearly;  be  not  so  churlish." 

**An  I  had  had  my  ship,"  said  Arblaster,  *'\  would 
'a'  been  forth  and  safe  on  the  high  seas — I  and  my  man 
Tom.  But  ye  took  my  ship,  gossip,  and  I'm  a  beggar; 
and  for  my  man  Tom,  a  knave  fellow  in  russet  shot  him 
down.  *  Murrain !  *  quoth  he,  and  spake  never  again. 
*  Murrain '  was  the  last  of  his  words,  and  the  poor  spirit 
of  him  passed.  'A  will  never  sail  no  more,  will  my 
Tom." 

Dick  was  seized  with  unavailing  penitence  and  pity ; 
he  sought  to  take  the  skipper's  hand,  but  Arblaster 
avoided  his  touch. 

"Nay,"  said  he,  'Met  be.  Y'  have  played  the  devil 
with  me,  and  let  that  content  you." 

The  words  died  in  Richard's  throat.  He  saw,  through 
tears,  the  poor  old  man,  bemused  with  liquor  and  sor- 
row, go  shambling  away,  with  bowed  head,  across  the 
snow,  and  the  unnoticed  dog  whimpering  at  his  heels, 
and  for  the  first  time  began  to  understand  the  desperate 
game  that  we  play  in  life;  and  how  a  thing  once  done 
is  not  to  be  changed  or  remedied,  by  any  penitence. 

But  there  was  no  time  left  to  him  for  vain  regret 
2S1 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

Catesby  had  now  collected  the  horsemen,  and  riding 
up  to  Dick  he  dismounted,  and  offered  him  his  own 
horse. 

''This  morning,"  he  said,  "I  was  somewhat  jealous 
of  your  favour;  it  hath  not  been  of  a  long  growth;  and 
now,  Sir  Richard,  it  is  with  a  very  good  heart  that  I 
offer  you  this  horse  —  to  ride  away  with." 

"Suffer  me  yet  a  moment,"  replied  Dick.  ''This 
favour  of  mine — whereupon  was  it  founded  ?" 

"  Upon  your  name,"  answered  Catesby.  *'  It  is  my 
lord's  chief  superstition.  Were  my  name  Richard,  I 
should  be  an  earl  to-morrow." 

"Well,  sir,  I  thank  you,"  returned  Dick;  "and  since 
I  am  little  likely  to  follow  these  great  fortunes,  I  will 
even  say  farewell.  I  will  not  pretend  I  was  displeased 
to  think  myself  upon  the  road  to  fortune;  but  I  will  not 
pretend,  neither,  that  I  am  over-sorry  to  be  done  with 
it.  Command  and  riches,  they  are  brave  things,  to  be 
sure;  but  a  word  in  your  ear — yon  duke  of  yours,  he  is 
a  fearsome  lad." 

Catesby  laughed. 

"Nay,"  said  he,  "of  a  verity  he  that  rides  with 
Crooked  Dick  will  ride  deep.  Well,  God  keep  us  all 
from  evil!     Speed  ye  well." 

Thereupon  Dick  put  himself  at  the  head  of  his  men, 
and  giving  the  word  of  command,  rode  off. 

He  made  straight  across  the  town,  following  what 
he  supposed  to  be  the  route  of  Sir  Daniel,  and  spying 
around  for  any  signs  that  might  decide  if  he  were  right. 

The  streets  were  strewn  with  the  dead  and  the 
wounded,  whose  fate,  in  the  bitter  frost,  was  far  the 
more  pitiable.     Gangs  of  the  victors  went  from  house 

282 


THE  SACK  OF  SHOREBY 

to  house,  pillaging  and  stabbing,  and  sometimes  singing 
together  as  they  went. 

From  different  quarters,  as  he  rode  on,  the  sounds  of 
violence  and  outrage  came  to  young  Shelton's  ears; 
now  the  blows  of  the  sledge-hammer  on  some  barri- 
caded door,  and  now  the  miserable  shrieks  of  women. 

Dick's  heart  had  just  been  awakened.  He  had  just 
seen  the  cruel  consequences  of  his  own  behaviour;  and 
the  thought  of  the  sum  of  misery  that  was  now  acting 
in  the  whole  of  Shoreby  filled  him  with  despair. 

At  length  he  reached  the  outskirts,  and  there,  sure 
enough,  he  saw  straight  before  him  the  same  broad, 
beaten  track  across  the  snow  that  he  had  marked  from 
the  summit  of  the  church.  Here,  then,  he  went  the 
faster  on;  but  still,  as  he  rode,  he  kept  a  bright  eye 
upon  the  fallen  men  and  horses  that  lay  beside  the  track. 
Many  of  these,  he  was  relieved  to  see,  wore  Sir  Daniel's 
colours,  and  the  faces  of  some,  who  lay  upon  their  back, 
he  even  recognised. 

About  half-way  between  the  town  and  the  Torest, 
those  whom  he  was  following  had  plainly  been  assailed 
by  archers ;  for  the  corpses  lay  pretty  closely  scattered, 
each  pierced  by  an  arrow.  And  here  Dick  spied  among 
the  rest  the  body  of  a  very  young  lad,  whose  face  was 
somehow  hauntingly  familiar  to  him. 

He  halted  his  troop,  dismounted,  and  raised  the  lad's 
head.  As  he  did  so,  the  hood  fell  back,  and  a  profusion 
of  long  brown  hair  unrolled  itself  At  the  same  time 
the  eyes  opened. 

"  Ah!  lion  driver!"  said  a  feeble  voice.  " She  is  far- 
ther on.     Ride  —  ride  fast ! " 

And  then  the  poor  young  lady  fainted  once  again. 
283 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

One  of  Dick's  men  carried  a  flask  of  some  strong  cor- 
dial, and  with  this  Dick  succeeded  in  reviving  conscious- 
ness. Then  he  took  Joanna's  friend  upon  his  saddle- 
bow, and  once  more  pushed  toward  the  forest. 

'  *  Why  do  ye  take  me  ?  "  said  the  girl.  *  *  Ye  but  delay 
your  speed." 

**Nay,  Mistress  Risingham,"  replied  Dick.  *' Shore- 
by  is  full  of  blood  and  drunkenness  and  riot.  Here  ye 
are  safe;  content  ye." 

**  I  will  not  be  beholden  to  any  of  your  faction,"  she 
cried;  **set  me  down." 

"  Madam,  ye  know  not  what  ye  say,"  returned  Dick. 
'*Y' are  hurt" 

**  I  am  not,"  she  said.     **  It  was  my  horse  was  slain." 

*Mt  matters  not  one  jot,"  replied  Richard.  "Ye  are 
here  in  the  midst  of  open  snow,  and  compassed  about 
with  enemies.  Whether  ye  will  or  not,  I  carry  you 
with  me.  Glad  am  I  to  have  the  occasion ;  for  thus  shall 
I  repay  some  portion  of  our  debt." 

For  a  little  while  she  was  silent.  Then,  very  sud- 
denly, she  asked: 

"My  uncle?" 

"My  Lord  Risingham?"  returned  Dick.  "I  would 
I  had  good  news  to  give  you,  madam ;  but  I  have  none. 
I  saw  him  once  in  the  battle,  and  once  only.  Let  us 
hope  the  best." 


284 


CHAPTER  V 

NIGHT   IN  THE  WOODS:   ALICIA   RISINGHAM 

It  was  almost  certain  that  Sir  Daniel  had  made  for  the 
Moat  House;  but,  considering  the  heavy  snow,  the  late- 
ness of  the  hour,  and  the  necessity  under  which  he 
would  lie  of  avoiding  the  few  roads  and  striking  across 
the  wood,  it  was  equally  certain  that  he  could  not  hope 
to  reach  it  ere  the  morrow. 

There  were  two  courses  open  to  Dick ;  either  to  con- 
tinue to  follow  in  the  knight's  trail,  and,  if  he  were  able, 
to  fall  upon  him  that  very  night  in  camp,  or  to  strike 
out  a  path  of  his  own,  and  seek  to  place  himself  between 
Sir  Daniel  and  his  destination. 

Either  scheme  was  open  to  serious  objection,  and 
Dick,  who  feared  to  expose  Joanna  to  the  hazards  of  a 
fight,  had  not  yet  decided  between  them  when  he 
reached  the  borders  of  the  wood. 

At  this  point  Sir  Daniel  had  turned  a  little  to  his  left, 
and  then  plunged  straight  under  a  grove  of  very  lofty 
timber.  His  party  had  then  formed  to  a  narrower  front, 
in  order  to  pass  between  the  trees,  and  the  track  was 
trod  proportionally  deeper  in  the  snow.  The  eye  fol- 
lowed it,  under  the  leafless  tracery  of  the  oaks,  running 
direct  and  narrow;  the  trees  stood  over  it,  with  knotty 
joints  and  the  great,  uplifted  forest  of  their  boughs; 

28s 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

there  was  no  sound,  whether  of  man  or  beast  —  not  so 
much  as  the  stirring  of  a  robin ;  and  over  the  field  of 
snow  the  winter  sun  lay  golden  among  netted  shadows. 

"  How  say  ye,"  asked  Dick  of  one  of  the  men,  "to 
follow  straight  on,  or  strike  across  for  Tunstall  ?  " 

"Sir  Richard,"  replied  the  man-at-arms,  "I  would 
tollow  the  line  until  they  scatter." 

"Ye  are,  doubtless,  right,"  returned  Dick;  "but  we 
came  right  hastily  upon  the  errand,  even  as  the  time 
commanded.  Here  are  no  houses,  neither  for  food  nor 
shelter,  and  by  the  morrow's  dawn  we  shall  know  both 
cold  fingers  and  an  empty  belly.  How  say  ye,  lads  ? 
Will  ye  stand  a  pinch  for  expedition's  sake,  or  shall  we 
turn  by  Holywood  and  sup  with  Mother  Church  ?  The 
case  being  somewhat  doubtful,  1  will  drive  no  man;  yet 
if  ye  would  suffer  me  to  lead  you,  ye  would  choose  the 
first." 

The  men  answered,  almost  with  one  voice,  that  they 
would  follow  Sir  Richard  where  he  would. 

And  Dick,  setting  spur  to  his  horse,  began  once  more 
to  go  forward. 

The  snow  in  the  trail  had  been  trodden  very  hard,  and 
the  pursuers  had  thus  a  great  advantage  over  the  pur- 
sued. They  pushed  on,  indeed,  at  a  round  trot,  two 
hundred  hoofs  beating  alternately  on  the  dull  pavement 
of  the  snow,  and  the  jingle  of  weapons  and  the  snort- 
ing of  horses  raising  a  warlike  noise  along  the  arches  of 
the  silent  wood. 

Presently,  the  wide  slot  of  the  pursued  came  out  upon 
the  high  road  from  Holywood ;  it  was  there,  for  a  mo- 
ment, indistinguishable ;  and,  where  it  once  more  plunged 
into  the  unbeaten  snow  upon  the  farther  side,  Dick  was 

286 


NIGHT  IN  THE  WOODS 

surprised  to  see  it  narrower  and  lighter  trod.  Plainly, 
profiting  by  the  road,  Sir  Daniel  had  begun  already  to 
scatter  his  command. 

At  all  hazards,  one  chance  being  equal  to  another, 
Dick  continued  to  pursue  the  straight  trail;  and  that, 
after  an  hour's  riding,  in  which  it  led  into  the  very  depths 
of  the  forest,  suddenly  split,  like  a  bursting  shell,  into 
two  dozen  others,  leading  to  every  point  of  the  compass. 

Dick  drew  bridle  in  despair.  The  short  winter's  day 
was  near  an  end ;  the  sun,  a  dull  red  orange,  shorn  of 
rays,  swam  low  among  the  leafless  thickets;  the  sha- 
dows were  a  mile  long  upon  the  snow;  the  frost  bit 
cruelly  at  the  finger-nails;  and  the  breath  and  steam  of 
the  horses  mounted  in  a  cloud. 

'  •  Well,  we  are  outwitted, "  Dick  confessed.  * '  Strike 
we  for  Holywood,  after  all.  It  is  still  nearer  us  than 
Tunstall  —  or  should  be  by  the  station  of  the  sun." 

So  they  wheeled  to  their  left,  turning  their  backs  on 
the  red  shield  of  sun,  and  made  across  country  for  the 
abbey.  But  now  times  were  changed  with  them ;  they 
could  no  longer  spank  forth  briskly  on  a  path  beaten 
firm  by  the  passage  of  their  foes,  and  for  a  goal  to  which 
that  path  itself  conducted  them.  Now  they  must  plough 
at  a  dull  pace  through  the  encumbering  snow,  contin- 
ually pausing  to  decide  their  course,  continually  floun- 
dering in  drifts.  The  sun  soon  left  them ;  the  glow  of 
the  west  decayed ;  and  presently  they  were  wandering 
in  a  shadow  of  blackness,  under  frosty  stars. 

Presently,  indeed,  the  moon  would  clear  the  hilltops, 
and  they  might  resume  theit  march.  But  till  then,  everv 
random  step  might  carry  them  wider  of  their  march. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  camp  and  wait. 

287 


THE   BLACK   ARROW 

Sentries  were  posted ;  a  spot  of  ground  was  cleared 
of  snow,  and,  after  some  failures,  a  good  fire  blazed  in 
the  midst.  The  men-at-arms  sat  close  about  this  forest 
hearth,  sharing  such  provisions  as  they  had,  and  pass- 
ing about  the  flask;  and  Dick,  having  collected  the 
most  delicate  of  the  rough  and  scanty  fare,  brought  it 
to  Lord  Risingham's  niece,  where  she  sat  apart  from  the 
soldiery  against  a  tree. 

She  sat  upon  one  horse-cloth,  wrapped  in  another, 
and  stared  straight  before  her  at  the  firelit  scene.  At 
the  offer  of  food  she  started,  like  one  wakened  from  a 
dream,  and  then  silently  refused. 

** Madam,"  said  Dick,  "let  me  beseech  you,  punish 
me  not  so  cruelly.  Wherein  I  have  offended  you,  I 
know  not;  I  have,  indeed,  carried  you  away,  but  with 
a  friendly  violence;  I  have,  indeed,  exposed  you  to  the 
inclemency  of  night,  but  the  hurry  that  lies  upon  me 
hath  for  its  end  the  preservation  of  another,  who  is  no 
less  frail  and  no  less  unfriended  than  yourself.  At  least, 
madam,  punish  not  yourself;  and  eat,  if  not  for  hunger, 
then  for  strength." 

*'  I  will  eat  nothing  at  the  hands  that  slew  my  kins- 
man," she  replied. 

*'Dear  madam,"  Dick  cried,  "I  swear  to  you  upon 
the  rood  I  touched  him  not." 

"Swear  to  me  that  he  still  lives,"  she  returned. 

"  I  will  not  palter  with  you,"  answered  Dick.  "  Pity 
bids  me  to  wound  you.  In  my  heart  I  do  believe  him 
dead." 

"And  ye  ask  me  to  eat! "  she  cried.  "  Ay,  and  they 
call  you  'sir!'  Y'  have  won  your  spurs  by  my  good 
kinsman's  murder.     And  had  I  not  been  fool  and  traitor 

288 


NIGHT  IN   THE  WOODS 

both,  and  saved  you  in  your  enemy's  house,  ye  should 
have  died  the  death,  and  he  —  he  that  was  worth  twelve 
of  you  —  were  living." 

"  I  did  but  my  man's  best,  even  as  your  kinsman  did 
upon  the  other  party,"  answered  Dick.  "Were  he  still 
living  —  as  I  vow  to  Heaven  I  wish  it!  —  he  would 
praise,  not  blame  me." 

'*  Sir  Daniel  hath  told  me,"  she  replied.  **  He  marked 
you  at  the  barricade.  Upon  you,  he  saith,  their  party 
foundered ;  it  was  you  that  won  the  battle.  Well,  then, 
it  was  you  that  killed  my  good  Lord  Risingham,  as  sure 
as  though  ye  had  strangled  him.  And  ye  would  have 
me  eat  with  you  —  and  your  hands  not  washed  from 
killing  ?  But  Sir  Daniel  hath  sworn  your  downfall.  He 
'tis  that  will  avenge  me !  " 

The  unfortunate  Dick  was  plunged  in  gloom.  Old 
Arblaster  returned  upon  his  mind,  and  he  groaned 
aloud. 

*  *  Do  ye  hold  me  so  guilty  ?  "  he  said ;  *  *  you  that  de- 
fended me  —  you  that  are  Joanna's  friend?" 

*•  What  made  ye  in  the  battle  ?  "  she  retorted.  "  Y' 
are  of  no  party ;  y'  are  but  a  lad  —  but  legs  and  body, 
without  government  of  wit  or  counsel!  Wherefore  did 
ye  fight  ?    For  the  love  of  hurt,  pardy ! " 

"Nay,"  cried  Dick,  " I  know  not.  But  as  the  realm 
of  England  goes,  if  that  a  poor  gentleman  fight  not  upon 
the  one  side,  perforce  he  must  fight  upon  the  other.  He 
may  not  stand  alone;  'tis  not  in  nature." 

"They  that  have  no  judgment  should  not  draw  the 
sword,"  replied  the  young  lady.  "Ye  that  fight  but 
for  a  hazard,  what  are  ye  but  a  butcher  ?  War  is  but 
noble  by  the  cause,  and  y'  have  disgraced  it." 

289 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

"Madam,"  said  the  miserable  Dick,  '*I  do  partly  see 
mine  error.  I  have  made  too  much  haste;  I  have  been 
busy  before  my  time.  Already  I  stole  a  ship  —  think- 
ing, I  do  swear  it,  to  do  well  —  and  thereby  brought 
about  the  death  of  many  innocent,  and  the  grief  and  ruin 
of  a  poor  old  man  whose  face  this  very  day  hath  stabbed 
me  like  a  dagger.  And  for  this  morning,  I  did  but  de- 
sign to  do  myself  credit,  and  get  fame  to  marry  with, 
and,  behold !  I  have  brought  about  the  death  of  your 
dear  kinsman  that  was  good  to  me.  And  what  besides, 
I  know  not.  For,  alas!  I  may  have  set  York  upon  the 
throne,  and  that  may  be  the  worser  cause,  and  may  do 
hurt  to  England.  O,  madam,  I  do  see  my  sin.  I  am 
unfit  for  life.  I  will,  for  penance  sake  and  to  avoid 
worse  evil,  once  I  have  finished  this  adventure,  get  me 
to  a  cloister.  I  will  forswear  Joanna  and  the  trade  of 
arms.  I  will  be  a  friar,  and  pray  for  your  good  kins- 
man's spirit  all  my  days." 

It  appeared  to  Dick,  in  this  extremity  of  his  humilia- 
tion and  repentance,  that  the  young  lady  had  laughed. 

Raising  his  countenance,  he  found  her  looking  down 
upon  him,  in  the  fire-light,  with  a  somewhat  peculiar 
but  not  unkind  expression. 

*  *  Madam, "  he  cried,  thinking  the  laughter  to  have  been 
an  illusion  of  his  hearing,  but  still,  from  her  changed 
looks,  hoping  to  have  touched  her  heart,  ''  madam,  will 
not  this  content  you  ?  I  give  up  all  to  undo  what  I  have 
done  amiss;  I  make  heaven  certain  for  Lord  Risingham. 
And  all  this  upon  the  very  day  that  I  have  won  my 
spurs,  and  thought  myself  the  happiest  young  gentle- 
man on  ground." 

*  *  O  boy, "  she  said  —  *  *  good  boy !  " 

290 


NIGHT  IN  THE  WOODS 

And  then,  to  the  extreme  surprise  of  Dick,  she  first 
very  tenderly  wiped  the  tears  away  from  his  cheeks, 
and  then,  as  if  yielding  to  a  sudden  impulse,  threw  both 
her  arms  about  his  neck,  drew  up  his  face,  and  kissed 
him.  A  pitiful  bewilderment  came  over  simple-minded 
Dick. 

"  But  come,"  she  said,  with  great  cheerfulness,  *'you 
that  are  a  captain,  ye  must  eat.     Why  sup  ye  not  ?" 

"  Dear  Mistress  Risingham,"  replied  Dick,*'  I  did  but 
wait  first  upon  my  prisoner;  but,  to  say  truth,  penitence 
will  no  longer  suffer  me  to  endure  the  sight  of  food.  I 
were  better  to  fast,  dear  lady,  and  to  pray." 

"Call  me  Alicia,"  she  said;  "are  we  not  old  friends  ? 
And  now,  come,  I  will  eat  with  you,  bit  for  bit  and  sup 
for  sup ;  so  if  ye  eat  not,  neither  will  I ;  but  if  ye  eat 
hearty,  I  will  dine  like  a  ploughman." 

So  there  and  then  she  fell  to;  and  Dick,  who  had  an 
excellent  stomach,  proceeded  to  bear  her  company,  at 
first  with  great  reluctance,  but  gradually,  as  he  entered 
into  the  spirit,  with  more  and  more  vigour  and  devo- 
tion :  until,  at  last,  he  forgot  even  to  watch  his  model, 
and  most  heartily  repaired  the  expenses  of  his  day  of 
labour  and  excitement. 

"Lion-driver,"  she  said,  at  length,  "ye  do  not  ad- 
mire a  maid  in  a  man's  jerkin  ?  " 

The  moon  was  now  up ;  and  they  were  only  waiting 
to  repose  the  wearied  horses.  By  the  moon's  light,  the 
still  penitent  but  now  well-fed  Richard  beheld  her  look- 
ing somewhat  coquettishly  down  upon  him. 

"  Madam  " he  stammered,  surprised  at  this  new 

turn  in  her  manners. 

*  *  Nay, "  she  interrupted,  ' '  it  skills  not  to  deny ;  Joanna 
291 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

hath  told  me,  but  come,  Sir  Lion-driver,  look  at  me— 
am  ^  so  homely  —  come !  " 

And  she  made  bright  eyes  at  him. 

"Ye   are    something    smallish,    indeed" began 

Dick. 

And  here  again  she  interrupted  him,  this  time  with  a 
ringing  peal  of  laughter  that  completed  his  confusion 
and  surprise. 

*' Smallish!"  she  cried.  ''Nay,  now,  be  honest  as 
ye  are  bold ;  1  am  a  dwarf,  or  little  better;  but  for  all  that 
—  come,  tell  me!  —  for  all  that,  passably  fair  to  look 
upon;  is't  not  so  ?" 

''Nay,  madam,  exceedingly  fair,"  said  the  distressed 
knight,  pitifully  trying  to  seem  easy. 

"And  a  man  would  be  right  glad  to  wed  me?"  she 
pursued. 

"O,  madam,  right  glad! "  agreed  Dick. 

"  Call  me  Alicia,"  said  she. 

"Alicia,"  quoth  Sir  Richard. 

"Well,  then,  lion-driver,"  she  continued,  "sith  that 
ye  slew  my  kinsman,  and  left  me  without  stay,  ye  owe 
me,  in  honour,  every  reparation;  do  ye  not.?" 

"I  do,  madam,"  said  Dick.  "Although,  upon  my 
heart,  I  do  hold  me  but  partially  guilty  of  that  brave 
knight's  blood." 

"Would  ye  evade  me  ?"  she  cried. 

"  Madam,  not  so.  I  have  told  you;  at  your  bidding, 
I  will  even  turn  me  a  monk,"  said  Richard. 

"  Then,  in  honour,  ye  belong  to  me  ?  "  she  concluded. 

"In    honour,    madam,    I    suppose" began    the 

young  man. 

"  Go  to ! "  she  interrupted ;  * '  ye  are  too  full  of  catches. 
292 


NIGHT   IN   THE  WOODS 

In  honour  do  ye  belong  to  me,  till  ye  have  paid  the 
evil?" 

**In  honour,  I  do,"  said  Dick. 

**Hear,  then,"  she  continued;  "Ye  would  make  but 
a  sad  friar,  methinks ;  and  since  I  am  to  dispose  of  you 
at  pleasure,  I  will  even  take  you  for  my  husband.  Nay, 
now,  no  words!"  cried  she.  "They  will  avail  you 
nothing.  For  see  how  just  it  is,  that  you  who  deprived 
me  of  one  home,  should  supply  me  with  another.  And 
as  for  Joanna,  she  will  be  the  first,  believe  me,  to  com- 
mend the  change;  for,  after  all,  as  we  be  dear  friends, 
what  matters  it  with  which  of  us  ye  wed  ?  Not  one 
whit!" 

"Madam,"  said  Dick,  "I  will  go  into  a  cloister,  an 
ye  please  to  bid  me;  but  to  wed  with  anyone  in  this  big 
world  besides  Joanna  Sedley  is  what  1  will  consent  to 
neither  for  man's  force  nor  yet  for  lady's  pleasure. 
Pardon  me  if  1  speak  my  plain  thoughts  plainly;  but 
where  a  maid  is  very  bold,  a  poor  man  must  even  be 
the  bolder." 

"  Dick,"  she  said,  "ye  sweet  boy,  ye  must  come  and 
kiss  me  for  that  word.  Nay,  fear  not,  ye  shall  kiss  me 
for  Joanna;  and  when  we  meet,  I  shall  give  it  back  to 
her,  and  say  1  stole  it.  And  as  for  what  ye  owe  me, 
why,  dear  simpleton,  methinks  ye  were  not  alone  in 
that  great  battle;  and  even  if  York  be  on  the  throne,  it 
was  not  you  that  set  him  there.  But  for  a  good,  sweet, 
honest  heart,  Dick,  y'  are  all  that;  and  if  I  could  find  it 
in  my  soul  to  envy  your  Joanna  anything,  I  would  even 
envy  her  your  love." 


293 


CHAPTER  VI 

NIGHT  IN  THE  WOODS   (concluded)  :   DICK  AND  JOAN 

The  horses  had  by  this  time  finished  the  small  store 
of  provender,  and  fully  breathed  from  their  fatigues. 
At  Dick's  command,  the  fire  was  smothered  in  snow; 
and  while  his  men  got  once  more  wearily  to  saddle,  he 
himself,  remembering,  somewhat  late,  true  woodland 
caution,  chose  a  tall  oak  and  nimbly  clambered  to  the 
topmost  fork.  Hence  he  could  look  far  abroad  on  the 
moonlit  and  snow-paven  forest.  On  the  south-west, 
dark  against  the  horizon,  stood  those  upland,  heathy 
quarters  where  he  and  Joanna  had  met  with  the  terrify- 
ing misadventure  of  the  leper.  And  there  his  eye  was 
caught  by  a  spot  of  ruddy  brightness  no  bigger  than  a 
needle's  eye. 

He  blamed  himself  sharply  for  his  previous  neglect. 
Were  that,  as  it  appeared  to  be,  the  shining  of  Sir  Dan- 
iel's camp-fire,  he  should  long  ago  have  seen  and 
marched  for  it;  above  all,  he  should,  for  no  considera- 
tion, have  announced  his  neighbourhood  by  lighting  a 
fire  of  his  own.  But  now  he  must  no  longer  squander 
valuable  hours.  The  direct  way  to  the  uplands  was 
about  two  miles  in  length ;  but  it  was  crossed  by  a  very 
deep,  precipitous  dingle,  impassable  to  mounted  men; 

294 


NIGHT  IN   THE  WOODS 

and  for  the  sake  of  speed,  it  seemed  to  Dick  advisable 
to  desert  the  horses  and  attempt  the  adventure  on  foot. 

Ten  men  were  left  to  guard  the  horses ;  signals  were 
agreed  upon  by  which  they  could  communicate  in  case 
of  need ;  and  Dick  set  forth  at  the  head  of  the  remainder, 
Alicia  Risingham  walking  stoutly  by  his  side. 

The  men  had  freed  themselves  of  heavy  armour,  and 
left  behind  their  lances;  and  they  now  marched  with  a 
very  good  spirit  in  the  frozen  snow,  and  under  the  ex- 
hilarating lustre  of  the  moon.  The  descent  into  the 
dingle,  where  a  stream  strained  sobbing  through  the 
snow  and  ice,  was  effected  with  silence  and  order;  and 
on  the  further  side,  being  then  within  a  short  half  mile 
of  where  Dick  had  seen  the  glimmer  of  the  fire,  the 
party  halted  to  breathe  before  the  attack. 

In  the  vast  silence  of  the  wood,  the  lightest  sounds 
were  audible  from  far;  and  Alicia,  who  was  keen  of 
hearing,  held  up  her  finger  warningly  and  stooped  to 
listen.  All  followed  her  example ;  but  besides  the  groans 
of  the  choked  brook  in  the  dingle  close  behind,  and  the 
barking  of  a  fox  at  a  distance  of  many  miles  among  the 
forest,  to  Dick's  acutest  hearkening,  not  a  breath  was 
audible. 

"But  yet,  for  sure,  I  heard  the  clash  of  harness," 
whispered  Alicia. 

"Madam,"  returned  Dick,  who  was  more  afraid  of 
that  young  lady  than  of  ten  stout  warriors,  "1  would 
not  hint  ye  were  mistaken ;  but  it  might  well  have  come 
from  either  of  the  camps." 

"  It  came  not  thence.  It  came  from  westward,"  she 
declared. 

*Mt  may  be  what  it  will,"  returned  Dick;  "and  it 
295 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

must  be  as  Heaven  please.  Reck  we  not  a  jot,  but  push 
on  the  livelier,  and  put  it  to  the  touch.  Up,  friends  — 
enough  breathed." 

As  they  advanced,  the  snow  became  more  and  more 
trampled  with  hoof-marks,  and  it  was  plain  that  they 
were  drawing  near  lo  the  encampment  of  a  considera- 
ble force  of  mounted  men.  Presently  they  could  see 
the  smoke  pouring  from  among  the  trees,  ruddily  col- 
oured on  its  lower  edge  and  scattering  bright  sparks. 

And  here,  pursuant  to  Dick's  orders,  his  men  began 
to  open  out,  creeping  stealthily  in  the  covert,  to  sur- 
round on  every  side  the  camp  of  their  opponents.  He 
himself,  placing  Alicia  in  the  shelter  of  a  bulky  oak, 
stole  straight  forth  in  the  direction  of  the  fire. 

At  last,  through  an  opening  of  the  wood,  his  eye  em- 
braced the  scene  of  the  encampment.  The  fire  had  been 
built  upon  a  heathy  hummock  of  the  ground,  sur- 
rounded on  three  sides  by  thicket,  and  it  now  burned 
very  strong,  roaring  aloud  and  brandishing  flames. 
Around  it  there  sat  not  quite  a  dozen  people,  warmly 
cloaked ;  but  though  the  neighbouring  snow  was  tram- 
pled down  as  by  a  regiment,  Dick  looked  in  vain  for 
any  horse.  He  began  to  have  a  terrible  misgiving  that 
he  was  out-manoeuvred.  At  the  same  time,  in  a  tall 
man  with  a  steel  salet,  who  was  spreading  his  hands 
before  the  blaze,  he  recognised  his  old  friend  and  still 
kindly  enemy,  Bennet  Hatch;  and  in  two  others,  sitting 
a  little  back,  he  made  out,  even  in  their  male  disguise, 
Joanna  Sedley  and  Sir  Daniel's  wife. 

"Well,"  thought  he  to  himself,  *'even  if  I  lose  my 
horses,  let  me  get  my  Joanna,  and  why  should  I  com- 
plain ?  " 

206 


NIGHT  IN  THE  WOODS 

And  then,  from  the  further  side  of  the  encampment, 
there  came  a  little  whistle,  announcing  that  his  men  had 
joined,  and  the  investment  was  complete. 

Bennet,  at  the  sound,  started  to  his  feet;  but  ere  he 
had  time  to  spring  upon  his  arms,  Dick  hailed  him. 

"Bennet,"  he  said — "Bennet,  old  friend,  yield  ye. 
Ye  will  but  spill  men's  lives  in  vain,  if  ye  resist." 

"Tis  Master  Shelton,  by  St.  Barbary!"  cried  Hatch. 
"Yield  me  ?    Ye  ask  much.     What  force  have  ye  ?" 

"I  tell  you,  Bennet,  ye  are  both  outnumbered  and 
begirt,"  said  Dick.  "Caesar  and  Charlemagne  would 
cry  for  quarter.  I  have  two  score  men  at  my  whistle, 
and  with  one  shoot  of  arrows  I  could  answer  for  you 
all." 

"Master  Dick,"  said  Bennet,  "it  goes  against  my 
heart;  but  I  must  do  my  duty.  The  saints  help  you!  " 
And  therewith  he  raised  a  little  tucket  to  his  mouth  and 
wound  a  rousing  call. 

Then  followed  a  moment  of  confusion;  for  while 
Dick,  fearing  for  the  ladies,  still  hesitated  to  give  the 
word  to  shoot.  Hatch's  little  band  sprang  to  their 
weapons  and  formed  back  to  back  as  for  a  fierce  resist- 
ance. In  the  hurry  of  their  change  of  place,  Joanna 
sprang  from  her  seat  and  ran  like  an  arrow  to  her  lover's 
side. 

"  Here,  Dick! "  she  cried,  as  she  clasped  his  hand  in 
hers. 

But  Dick  still  stood  irresolute ;  he  was  yet  young  to 
the  more  deplorable  necessities  of  war,  and  the  thought 
of  old  Lady  Brackley  checked  the  command  upon  his 
tongue.  His  own  men  became  restive.  Some  of  them 
cried  on  him  by  name;  others,  of  their  own  accord,  be- 

297 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

gan  to  shoot;  and  at  the  first  discharge  poor  Bennet  bit 
the  dust.     Then  Dick  awoke. 

" On! "  he  cried.  '* Shoot,  boys,  and  keep  to  cover. 
England  and  York ! " 

But  just  then  the  dull  beat  of  many  horses  on  the 
snow  suddenly  arose  in  the  hollow  ear  of  the  night, 
and,  with  incredible  swiftness,  drew  nearer  and  swelled 
louder.  At  the  same  time,  answering  tuckets  repeated 
and  repeated  Hatch's  call. 

"  Rally,  rally ! "  cried  Dick.  "  Rally  upon  me!  Rally 
for  your  lives! " 

But  his  men  —  afoot,  scattered,  taken  in  the  hour 
when  they  had  counted  on  an  easy  triumph  —  began 
instead  to  give  ground  severally,  and  either  stood  wav- 
ering or  dispersed  into  the  thickets.  And  when  the 
first  of  the  horsemen  came  charging  through  the  open 
avenues  and  fiercely  riding  their  steeds  into  the  under- 
wood, a  few  stragglers  were  overthrown  or  speared 
among  the  brush,  but  the  bulk  of  Dick's  command  had 
simply  melted  at  the  rumour  of  their  coming. 

Dick  stood  for  a  moment,  bitterly  recognising  the 
fruits  of  his  precipitate  and  unwise  valour.  Sir  Daniel 
had  seen  the  fire;  he  had  moved  out  with  his  main 
force,  whether  to  attack  his  pursuers  or  to  take  them 
in  the  rear  if  they  should  venture  the  assault.  His  had 
been  throughout  the  part  of  a  sagacious  captain ;  Dick's 
the  conduct  of  an  eager  boy.  And  here  was  the  young 
knight,  his  sweetheart,  indeed,  holding  him  tightly  by 
the  hand,  but  otherwise  alone,  his  whole  command  of 
men  and  horses  dispersed  in  the  night  and  the  wide 
forest,  like  a  paper  of  pins  in  a  hay  barn. 

**  The  saints  enlighten  me!  "  he  thought.  *'  It  is  well 
298 


NIGHT  IN   THE  WCX)DS 

I  was  knighted  for  this  morning's  matter;  this  doth  me 
little  honour." 

And  thereupon,  still  holding  Joanna,  he  began  to  run. 

The  silence  of  the  night  was  now  shattered  by  the 
shouts  of  the  men  of  Tunstall,  as  they  galloped  hither 
and  thither,  hunting  fugitives;  and  Dick  broke  boldly 
through  the  underwood  and  ran  straight  before  him  like 
a  deer.  The  silver  clearness  of  the  moon  upon  the  open 
snow  increased,  by  contrast,  the  obscurity  of  the 
thickets;  and  the  extreme  dispersion  of  the  vanquished 
led  the  pursuers  into  wildly  divergent  paths.  Hence, 
in  but  a  little  while,  Dick  and  Joanna  paused,  in  a  close 
covert,  and  heard  the  sounds  of  the  pursuit,  scattering 
abroad,  indeed,  in  all  directions,  but  yet  fainting  already 
in  the  distance. 

**An  I  had  but  kept  a  reserve  of  them  together," 
Dick  cried,  bitterly,  *'I  could  have  turned  the  tables 
yet!  Well,  we  live  and  learn;  next  time  it  shall  go 
better,  by  the  rood." 

**Nay,  Dick,"  said  Joanna,  **what  matters  it?  Here 
we  are  together  once  again." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  there  she  was — John  Matcham, 
as  of  yore,  in  hose  and  doublet  But  now  he  knew  her; 
now,  even  in  that  ungainly  dress,  she  smiled  upon  him, 
bright  with  love;  and  his  heart  was  transported  with 
joy. 

"Sweetheart,"  he  said,  "if  ye  forgive  this  blunderer, 
what  care  I  ?  Make  we  direct  for  Holy  wood ;  there  lieth 
your  good  guardian  and  my  better  friend.  Lord  Foxham. 
There  shall  we  be  wed;  and  whether  poor  or  wealthy, 
famous  or  unknown,  what  matters  it  ?  This  day,  deaf 
love,  I  won  my  spurs ;  I  was  commended  by  great  men 

i99 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

for  my  valour;  I  thought  myself  the  goodliest  man  of 
war  in  all  broad  England.  Then,  first,  I  fell  out  of  my 
favour  with  the  great;  and  now  have  I  been  well 
thrashed,  and  clean  lost  my  soldiers.  There  was  a 
downfall  for  conceit!  But,  dear,  I  care  not — dear,  if  ye 
still  love  me  and  will  wed,  I  would  have  my  knight- 
hood done  away,  and  mind  it  not  a  jot." 

*  *  My  Dick ! "  she  cried.    ' '  And  did  they  knight  you  ?  " 

**Ay,  dear,  ye  are  my  lady  now,"  he  answered, 
fondly;  "or  ye  shall,  ere  noon  to-morrow  —  will  ye 
not?" 

''  That  will  I,  Dick,  with  a  glad  heart,"  she  answered. 

'*  Ay,  sir .^  Methought  ye  were  to  be  a  monk! "  said 
a  voice  in  their  ears. 

**  Alicia!"  cried  Joanna. 

''Even  so,"  replied  the  young  lady,  coming  forward. 
''Alicia,  whom  ye  left  for  dead,  and  whom  your  lion- 
driver  found,  and  brought  to  life  again,  and,  by  my 
sooth,  made  love  to,  if  ye  want  to  know!" 

"I'll  not  believe  it,"  cried  Joanna.     "Dick!" 

* '  Dick !  "  mimicked  Alicia.  ' '  Dick,  indeed !  Ay,  fair 
sir,  and  ye  desert  poor  damsels  in  distress,"  she  con- 
tinued, turning  to  the  young  knight.  "  Ye  leave  them 
planted  behind  oaks.  But  they  say  true  —  the  age  of 
chivalry  is  dead." 

"Madam,"  cried  Dick,  in  despair,  "upon  my  soul  I 
had  forgotten  you  outright.  Madam,  ye  must  try  to 
pardon  me.     Ye  see,  I  had  new  found  Joanna! " 

"  I  did  not  suppose  that  ye  had  done  it  o'  purpose," 
she  retorted.  "But  I  will  be  cruelly  avenged.  I  will 
tell  a  secret  to  my  Lady  Shelton — she  that  is  to  be," 
she  added,  curtseying.     "Joanna,"  she  continued,  "I 

300 


NIGHT  IN  THE  WOODS 

believe,  upon  my  soul,  your  sweetheart  is  a  bold  fellow 
in  a  fight,  but  he  is,  let  me  tell  you  plainly,  the  softest- 
hearted  simpleton  in  England.  Go  to  —  ye  may  do  your 
pleasure  with  him !  And  now,  fool  children,  first  kiss 
me,  either  one  of  you,  for  luck  and  kindness;  and  then 
kiss  each  other  just  one  minute  by  the  glass,  and  not 
one  second  longer;  and  then  let  us  all  three  set  forth  for 
Holy  wood  as  fast  as  we  can  stir;  for  these  woods,  me- 
thinks,  are  full  of  peril  and  exceeding  cold." 

**  But  did  my  Dick  make  love  to  you  ?  "  asked  Joanna, 
clinging  to  her  sweetheart's  side. 

* '  Nay,  fool  girl, "  returned  Alicia ;  *  *  it  was  I  made  love 
to  him.  I  offered  to  marry  him,  indeed;  but  he  bade 
me  go  marry  with  my  likes.  These  were  his  words. 
Nay,  that  I  will  say:  he  is  more  plain  than  pleasant. 
But  now,  children,  for  the  sake  of  sense,  set  forward. 
Shall  we  go  once  more  over  the  dingle,  or  push  straight 
for  Holy  wood  ?  " 

**  Why,"  said  Dick,  **  I  would  like  dearly  to  get  upon 
a  horse ;  for  I  have  been  sore  mauled  and  beaten,  one 
way  and  another,  these  last  days,  and  my  poor  body  is 
one  bruise.  But  how  think  ye  ?  If  the  men,  upon  the 
alarm  of  the  fighting,  had  fled  away,  we  should  have 
gone  about  for  nothing.  'Tis  but  some  three  short  miles 
to  Holy  wood  direct;  the  bell  hath  not  beat  nine;  the 
snow  is  pretty  firm  to  walk  upon,  the  moon  clear;  how 
if  we  went  even  as  we  are  ?  " 

"  Agreed,"  cried  Alicia;  but  Joanna  only  pressed  upon 
Dick's  arm. 

Forth,  then,  they  went,  through  open  leafless  groves 
and  down  snow-clad  alleys,  under  the  white  face  of 
the  winter  moon;  Dick  and  Joanna  walking  hand  in 

301 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

hand  and  in  a  heaven  of  pleasure;  and  their  light-minded 
companion,  her  own  bereavements  heartily  forgotten, 
followed  a  pace  or  two  behind,  now  rallying  them  upon 
their  silence,  and  now  drawing  happy  pictures  of  their 
future  and  united  lives. 

Still,  indeed,  in  the  distance  of  the  wood,  the  riders 
of  Tunstall  might  be  heard  urging  their  pursuit;  and 
from  time  to  time  cries  or  the  clash  of  steel  announced 
the  shock  of  enemies.  But  in  these  young  folk,  bred 
among  the  alarms  of  war,  and  fresh  from  such  a  multi- 
plicity of  dangers,  neither  fear  nor  pity  could  be  lightly 
wakened.  Content  to  find  the  sounds  still  drawing 
farther  and  farther  away,  they  gave  up  their  hearts  to 
the  enjoyment  of  the  hour,  walking  already,  as  Alicia 
put  it,  in  a  wedding  procession;  and  neither  the  rude 
solitude  of  the  forest,  nor  the  cold  of  the  freezing  night, 
had  any  force  to  shadow  or  distract  their  happiness. 

At  length,  from  a  rising  hill,  they  looked  below  them 
on  the  dell  of  Holywood.  The  great  windows  of  the 
forest  abbey  shone  with  torch  and  candle;  its  high  pin- 
nacles and  spires  arose  very  clear  and  silent,  and  the 
gold  rood  upon  the  topmost  summit  glittered  brightly 
in  the  moon.  All  about  it,  in  the  open  glade,  camp- 
fires  were  burning,  and  the  ground  was  thick  with 
huts ;  and  across  the  midst  of  the  picture  the  frozen  river 
curved; 

"By  the  mass,"  said  Richard,  *' there  are  Lord  Fox- 
ham's  fellows  still  encamped.  The  messenger  hath 
certainly  miscarried.  Well,  then,  so  better.  We  have 
power  at  hand  to  face  Sir  Daniel." 

But  if  Lord  Foxham's  men  still  lay  encamped  in  the 
long  holm  at  Holywood,  it  was  from  a  different  reason 

302 


NIGHT  IN   THE  WOODS 

from  the  one  supposed  by  Dick.  They  had  marched, 
indeed,  for  Shoreby ;  but  ere  they  were  halfway  thither, 
a  second  messenger  met  them,  and  bade  them  return  to 
their  morning's  camp,  to  bar  the  road  against  Lancas- 
trian fugitives,  and  to  be  so  much  nearer  to  the  main 
army  of  York.  For  Richard  of  Gloucester,  having  fin- 
ished the  battle  and  stamped  out  his  foes  in  that  district, 
was  already  on  the  march  to  rejoin  his  brother;  and 
not  long  after  the  return  of  my  Lord  Foxham's  retainers, 
Crookback  himself  drew  rein  before  the  abbey  door.  It 
was  in  honour  of  this  august  visitor  that  the  windows 
shone  with  lights ;  and  at  the  hour  of  Dick's  arrival  with 
his  sweetheart  and  her  friend,  the  whole  ducal  party 
was  being  entertained  in  the  refectory  with  the  splen- 
dour of  that  powerful  and  luxurious  monastery. 

Dick,  not  quite  with  his  good  will,  was  brought  be- 
fore them.  Gloucester,  sick  with  fatigue,  sat  leaning 
upon  one  hand  his  white  and  terrifying  countenance; 
Lord  Foxham,  half  recovered  from  his  wound,  was  in  a 
place  of  honour  on  his  left. 

"How,  sir?"  asked  Richard.  ''Have  ye  brought 
me  Sir  Daniel's  head  ?" 

"My  lord  duke,"  replied  Dick,  stoutly  enough,  but 
with  a  qualm  at  heart,  '  *  I  have  not  even  the  good  for- 
tune to  return  with  my  command.  I  have  been,  so 
please  your  grace,  well  beaten." 

Gloucester  looked  upon  him  with  a  formidable  frown. 

"  I  gave  you  fifty  lances,^  sir,"  he  said. 

"  My  lord  duke,  I  had  but  fifty  men-at-arms,"  replied 
the  young  knight. 

1  Technically,  the  term  '"lance"  included  a  not  quite  certain  num- 
ber of  foot  soldiers  attached  to  the  man-at-arms. 

303 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

**  How  is  this  ?"  said  Gloucester.  "  He  did  ask  me 
fifty  lances." 

*  *  May  it  please  your  grace, "  replied  Catesby,  smoothly, 
"for  a  pursuit  we  gave  him  but  the  horsemen." 

'*It  is  well,"  replied  Richard,  adding,  "Shelton,  ye 
may  go." 

''Stay!"  said  Lord  Foxham.  **This  young  man 
likewise  had  a  charge  from  me.  It  may  be  he  hath  bet- 
ter sped.  Say,  Master  Shelton,  have  ye  found  the 
maid  ?  " 

'M  praise  the  saints,  my  lord,"  said  Dick,  *'she  is  in 
this  house." 

*Ms  it  even  so ?  Well,  then,  my  lord  the  duke,"  re- 
sumed Lord  Foxham,  "with  your  good  will,  to-mor- 
row, before  the  army  march,  I  do  propose  a  marriage. 
This  young  squire " 

"Young  knight,"  interrupted  Catesby. 

"Say  ye  so.  Sir  William  ?"  cried  Lord  Foxham. 

"  I  did  myself,  and  for  good  service,  dub  him  knight," 
said  Gloucester.  "  He  hath  twice  manfully  served  me. 
It  is  not  valour  of  hands,  it  is  a  man's  mind  of  iron,  that 
he  lacks.  He  will  not  rise.  Lord  Foxham.  Tis  a  fellow 
that  will  fight  indeed  bravely  in  a  mellay,  but  hath  a 
capon's  heart.  Howbeit,  if  he  is  to  marry,  marry  him 
in  the  name  of  Mary,  and  be  done! " 

"Nay,  he  is  a  brave  lad  —  1  know  it,"  said  Lord  Fox- 
ham. "Content  ye,  then.  Sir  Richard.  I  have  com- 
pounded this  affair  with  Master  Hamley,  and  to-morrow 
ye  shall  wed." 

Whereupon  Dick  judged  it  prudent  to  withdraw ;  but 
he  was  not  yet  clear  of  the  refectory,  when  a  man,  but 
newly  alighted  at  the  gate,  came  running  four  stairs  at 

304 


NIGHT  IN  THE  WOODS 

a  bound,  and,  brushing  through  the  abbey  servants, 
threw  himself  on  one  knee  before  the  duke. 

**  Victory,  my  lord,"  he  cried. 

And  before  Dick  had  got  to  the  chamber  set  apart  for 
him  as  Lord  Foxham's  guest,  the  troops  in  the  holm 
were  cheering  around  their  fires;  for  upon  that  same 
day,  not  twenty  miles  away,  a  second  crushing  blow 
had  been  dealt  to  the  power  of  Lancaster. 


J05 


CHAPTER  VII 

dick's  revenge 

The  next  morning  Dick  was  afoot  before  the  sun,  and 
having  dressed  himself  to  the  best  advantage  with  the 
aid  of  the  Lord  Foxham's  baggage,  and  got  good  reports 
of  Joan,  he  set  forth  on  foot  to  walk  away  his  impa- 
tience. 

For  some  while  he  made  rounds  among  the  soldiery, 
who  were  getting  to  arms  in  the  wintry  twilight  of  the 
dawn  and  by  the  red  glow  of  torches;  but  gradually  he 
strolled  further  afield,  and  at  length  passed  clean  beyond 
the  outposts,  and  walked  alone  in  the  frozen  forest,  wait- 
ing for  the  sun. 

His  thoughts  were  both  quiet  and  happy.  His  brief 
favour  with  the  Duke  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to 
mourn;  with  Joan  to  wife,  and  my  Lord  Foxham  for  a 
faithful  patron,  he  looked  most  happily  upon  the  future; 
and  in  the  past  he  found  but  little  to  regret. 

As  he  thus  strolled  and  pondered,  the  solemn  light 
of  the  morning  grew  more  clear,  the  east  was  already 
coloured  by  the  sun,  and  a  little  scathing  wind  blew 
up  the  frozen  snow.  He  turned  to  go  home;  but 
even  as  he  turned,  his  eye  lit  upon  a  figure  behind  a 
tree. 

''Stand!  "  he  cried.     ''Who  goes?" 
^06 


DICK'S   REVENGE 

The  figure  stepped  forth  and  waved  its  hand  like  a 
dumb  person.  It  was  arrayed  like  a  pilgrim,  the  hood 
lowered  over  the  face,  but  Dick,  in  an  instant,  recog- 
nised Sir  Daniel. 

He  strode  up  to  him,  drawing  his  sword;  and  the 
knight,  putting  his  hand  in  his  bosom,  as  if  to  seize  a 
hidden  weapon,  steadfastly  awaited  his  approach. 

"Well,  Dickon,"  said  Sir  Daniel,  "how  is  it  to  be? 
Do  ye  make  war  upon  the  fallen  ?  " 

"I  made  no  war  upon  your  life,"  replied  the  lad;  **I 
was  your  true  friend  until  ye  sought  for  mine;  but  ye 
have  sought  for  it  greedily." 

"Nay  —  self-defence,"  replied  the  knight.  "And 
now,  boy,  the  news  of  this  battle,  and  the  presence  of 
yon  crooked  devil  here  in  mine  own  wood,  have  broken 
me  beyond  all  help.  I  go  to  Holywood  for  sanctuary ; 
thence  overseas,  with  what  I  can  carry,  and  to  begin 
life  again  in  Burgundy  or  France." 

"Ye  may  not  go  to  Holywood,"  said  Dick. 

"How!     May  not ?"  asked  the  knight. 

"Look  ye.  Sir  Daniel,  this  is  my  marriage  morn," 
said  Dick;  "and  yon  sun  that  is  to  rise  will  make  the 
brightest  day  that  ever  shone  for  me.  Your  life  is  for- 
feit—  doubly  forfeit,  for  my  father's  death  and  your  own 
practices  to  meward.  But  I  myself  have  done  amiss ;  I 
have  brought  about  men's  deaths;  and  upon  this  glad 
day  I  will  be  neither  judge  nor  hangman.  An  ye  were 
the  devil,  I  would  not  lay  a  hand  on  you.  An  ye  were 
the  devil,  ye  might  go  where  ye  will  for  me.  Seek 
God's  forgiveness ;  mine  ye  have  freely.  But  to  go  on 
to  Holywood  is  different.  I  carry  arms  for  York,  and  I 
will  suffer  no  spy  within  their  lines.     Hold  it,  then,  for 

307 


THE  BLACK  ARROW 

certain,  if  ye  set  one  foot  before  another,  I  will  uplift  my 
voice  and  call  the  nearest  post  to  seize  you." 

"  Ye  mock  me,"  said  Sir  Daniel.  "  I  have  no  safety 
out  of  Holy  wood." 

"I  care  no  more,"  returned  Richard.  "I  let  you  go 
east,  west,  or  south;  north  1  will  not.  Holy  wood  is 
shut  against  you.  Go,  and  seek  not  to  return.  For, 
once  ye  are  gone,  I  will  warn  every  post  about  this 
army,  and  there  will  be  so  shrewd  a  watch  upon  all 
pilgrims  that,  once  again,  were  ye  the  very  devil,  ye 
would  find  it  ruin  to  make  the  essay." 

''Ye  doom  me,"  said  Sir  Daniel,  gloomily. 

"I  doom  you  not,"  returned  Richard.  *Mf  it  so 
please  you  to  set  your  valour  against  mine,  come  on; 
and  though  I  fear  it  be  disloyal  to  my  party,  I  will  take 
the  challenge  openly  and  fully,  fight  you  with  mine 
own  single  strength,  and  call  for  none  to  help  me.  So 
shall  I  avenge  my  father,  with  a  perfect  conscience." 

''Ay,"  said  Sir  Daniel,  "  y'  have  a  long  sword  against 
my  dagger." 

"I  rely  upon  Heaven  only,"  answered  Dick,  casting 
his  sword  some  way  behind  him  on  the  snow.  "Now, 
if  your  ill-fate  bids  you,  come;  and,  under  the  pleasure 
of  the  Almighty,  I  make  myself  bold  to  feed  your  bones 
to  foxes." 

"I  did  but  try  you,  Dickon,"  returned  the  knight, 
with  an  uneasy  semblance  of  a  laugh.  "I  would  not 
spill  your  blood." 

"  Go,  then,  ere  it  be  too  late,"  replied  Shelton.  "  In  five 
minutes  1  will  call  the  post.  I  do  perceive  that  I  am  too 
long-suffering.  Had  but  our  places  been  reversed,!  should 
have  been  bound  hand  and  foot  some  minutes  past." 

308 


DICK'S   REVENGE 

'*  Well,  Dickon,  I  will  go,  "replied  Sir  Daniel.  "When 
we  next  meet,  it  shall  repent  you  that  ye  were  so  harsh." 

And  with  these  words,  the  knight  turned  and  began 
to  move  off  under  the  trees.  Dick  watched  him  with 
strangely-mingled  feelings,  as  he  went,  swiftly  and  war- 
ily, and  ever  and  again  turning  a  wicked  eye  upon  the 
lad  who  had  spared  him,  and  whom  he  still  suspected. 

There  was  upon  one  side  of  where  he  went  a  thicket, 
strongly  matted  with  green  ivy,  and,  even  in  its  winter 
^tate,  impervious  to  the  eye.  Herein,  all  of  a  sudden, 
a  bow  sounded  like  a  note  of  music.  An  arrow  flew, 
and  with  a  great,  choked  cry  of  agony  and  anger,  the 
Knight  of  Tunstall  threw  up  his  hands  and  fell  forward 
in  the  snow. 

Dick  bounded  to  his  side  and  raised  him.  His  face 
desperately  worked;  his  whole  body  was  shaken  by 
contorting  spasms. 

'•  Is  the  arrow  black  ?"  he  gasped. 

**  It  is  black,"  replied  Dick,  gravely. 

And  then,  before  he  could  add  one  word,  a  desperate 
seizure  of  pain  shook  the  wounded  man  from  head  to 
foot,  so  that  his  body  leaped  in  Dick's  supporting  arms, 
and  with  the  extremity  of  that  pang  his  spirit  fled  in 
silence. 

The  young  man  laid  him  back  gently  on  the  snow 
and  prayed  for  that  unprepared  and  guilty  spirit,  and  as 
he  prayed  the  sun  came  up  at  a  bound,  and  the  robins 
began  chirping  in  the  ivy. 

When  he  rose  to  his  feet,  he  found  another  man  upon 
his  knees  but  a  few  steps  behind  him,  and,  still  with 
uncovered  head,  he  waited  until  that  prayer  also  should 
be  over.     It  took  long;  the  man,  with  his  head  bowed 

300 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

and  his  face  covered  with  his  hands,  prayed  like  one  in 
a  great  disorder  or  distress  of  mind;  and  by  the  bow 
that  lay  beside  him,  Dick  judged  that  he  was  no  other 
than  the  archer  who  had  laid  Sir  Daniel  low. 

At  length  he,  also,  rose,  and  showed  the  countenance 
of  Ellis  Duckworth. 

**  Richard,"  he  said,  very  gravely,  "  I  heard  you.  Ye 
took  the  better  part  and  pardoned;  I  took  the  worse, 
and  there  lies  the  clay  of  mine  enemy.     Pray  for  me." 

And  he  wrung  him  by  the  hand. 

"Sir,"  said  Richard,  "I  will  pray  for  you,  indeed; 
though  how  I  may  prevail  I  wot  not.  But  if  ye  have  so 
long  pursued  revenge,  and  find  it  now  of  such  a  sorry 
flavour,  bethink  ye,  were  it  not  well  to  pardon  others  ? 
Hatch  —  he  is  dead,  poor  shrew !  I  would  have  spared 
a  better;  and  for  Sir  Daniel,  here  lies  his  body.  But  for 
the  priest,  if  I  might  anywise  prevail,  I  would  have  you 
let  him  go." 

A  flash  came  into  the  eyes  of  Ellis  Duckworth. 

"Nay,"  he  said,  "the  devil  is  still  strong  within  me. 
But  be  at  rest;  the  Black  Arrow  flieth  nevermore  —  the 
fellowship  is  broken.  They  that  still  live  shall  come  to 
their  quiet  and  ripe  end,  in  Heaven's  good  time,  for  me; 
and  for  yourself,  go  where  your  better  fortune  calls  you, 
and  think  no  more  of  Ellis." 


310 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CONCLUSION 

About  nine  in  the  morning,  Lord  Foxham  was  lead- 
ing his  ward,  once  more  dressed  as  befitted  her  sex,  and 
followed  by  Alicia  Risingham,  to  the  church  of  Holy- 
wood,  when  Richard  Crookback,  his  brow  already 
heavy  with  cares,  crossed  their  path  and  paused. 

"Is  this  the  maid?"  he  asked;  and  when  Lord  Fox- 
ham  had  replied  in  the  aflFirmative,  "  Minion,"  he  added, 
*'hold  up  your  face  until  I  see  its  favour." 

He  looked  upon  her  sourly  for  a  little. 

**  Ye  are  fair,"  he  said  at  last,  "and,  as  they  tell  me, 
dowered.  How  if  I  offered  you  a  brave  marriage,  as 
became  your  face  and  parentage  ?" 

"My  lord  duke,"  replied  Joanna,  "may  it  please  your 
grace,  I  had  rather  wed  with  Sir  Richard." 

"  How  so  ?  "  he  asked,  harshly.  "  Marry  but  the  man 
I  name  to  you,  and  he  shall  be  my  lord,  and  you  my 
lady,  before  night.  For  Sir  Richard,  let  me  tell  you 
plainly,  he  will  die  Sir  Richard." 

"I  ask  no  more  of  Heaven,  my  lord,  than  but  to  die 
Sir  Richard's  wife,"  returned  Joanna. 

"Look  ye  at  that,  my  lord,"  said  Gloucester,  turning 
to  Lord  Foxham.  "  Here  be  a  pair  for  you.  The  lad, 
when  for  good  services  I  gave  him  his  choice  of  my  fa- 
vour, chose  but  the  grace  of  an  old,  drunken  shipman. 

311 


THE   BLACK  ARROW 

I  did  warn  him  freely,  but  he  was  stout  in  his  besotted- 
ness.  'Here  dieth  your  favour,'  said  I;  and  he,  my 
lord,  with  a  most  assured  impertinence,  *  Mine  be  the 
loss,'  quoth  he.     It  shall  be  so,  by  the  rood! " 

''Said  he  so?"  cried  Alicia.  "Then  well  said,  lion- 
driver!" 

"  Who  is  this  ?"  asked  the  duke. 

"A  prisoner  of  Sir  Richard's,"  answered  Lord  Fox- 
ham;  "Mistress  Alicia  Risingham." 

"See  that  she  be  married  to  a  sure  man,"  said  the 
duke. 

"I  had  thought  of  my  kinsman,  Hamley,  an  it  like 
your  grace,"  returned  Lord  Foxham.  "He  hath  well 
served  the  cause." 

"It  likes  me  well,"  said  Richard.  "Let  them  be 
wedded  speedily.     Say,  fair  maid,  will  you  wed  ?  " 

"My  lord  duke,"  said  Alicia,   "so  as  the  man  is 

straight" And  there,  in  a  perfect  consternation, 

the  voice  died  on  her  tongue. 

"  He  is  straight,  my  mistress,"  replied  Richard,  calmly. 
"I  am  the  only  crookback  of  my  party;  we  are  else 
passably  well  shapen.  Ladies,  and  you,  my  lord,"  he 
added,  with  a  sudden  change  to  grave  courtesy,  "judge 
me  not  too  churlish  if  I  leave  you.  A  captain,  in  the 
time  of  war,  hath  not  the  ordering  of  his  hours." 

And  with  a  very  handsome  salutation  he  passed  on, 
followed  by  his  officers. 

"Alack,"  cried  Alicia,  "I  am  shent!" 

"Ye  know  him  not,"  replied  Lord  Foxham.  "It  is 
but  a  trifle;  he  hath  already  clean  forgot  your  words." 

"He  is,  then,  the  very  flower  of  knighthood,"  said 
Alicia. 

31a 


CONCLUSION 

"Nay,  he  but  mindeth  other  things,"  returned  Lord 
Foxham.     "Tarry  we  no  more." 

In  the  chancel  they  found  Dick  waiting,  attended  by 
a  few  young  men;  and  there  were  he  and  Joan  united. 
When  they  came  forth  again,  happy  and  yet  serious,  into 
the  frosty  air  and  sunlight,  the  long  files  of  the  army 
were  already  winding  forward  up  the  road;  already  the 
Duke  of  Gloucester's  banner  was  unfolded  and  began  to 
move  from  before  the  abbey  in  a  clump  of  spears ;  and 
behind  it,  girt  by  steel-clad  knights,  the  bold,  black- 
hearted, and  ambitious  hunchback  moved  on  towards 
his  brief  kingdom  and  his  lasting  infamy.  But  the  wed- 
ding party  turned  upon  the  other  side,  and  sat  down, 
with  sober  merriment,  to  breakfast.  The  father  cellarer 
attended  on  their  wants,  and  sat  with  them  at  table. 
Hamley,  all  jealousy  forgotten,  began  to  ply  the  nowise 
loth  Alicia  with  courtship.  And  there,  amid  the  sound- 
ing of  tuckets  and  the  clash  of  armoured  soldiery  and 
horses  continually  moving  forth,  Dick  and  Joan  sat  side 
by  side,  tenderly  held  hands,  and  looked,  with  ever 
growing  affection,  in  each  other's  eyes. 

Thenceforth  the  dust  and  blood  of  that  unruly  epoch 
passed  them  by.  They  dwelt  apart  from  alarms  in  the 
green  forest  where  their  love  began. 

Two  old  men  in  the  meanwhile  enjoyed  pensions  in 
great  prosperity  and  peace,  and  with  perhaps  a  superflu- 
ity of  ale  and  wine,  in  Tunstall  hamlet.  One  had  been  all 
his  life  a  shipman,  and  continued  to  the  last  to  lament  his 
man  Tom.  The  other,  who  had  been  a  bit  of  everything, 
turned  in  the  end  towards  piety,  and  made  a  most  religious 
death  under  the  name  of  Brother  Honestus  in  the  neigh- 
bouring abbey.    So  Lawless  had  his  will,  and  died  a  friar. 

3>3 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF 
JOHN  NICHOLSON 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF 
JOHN  NICHOLSON 


CHAPTER  I 

IN   WHICH  JOHN   SOWS  THE   WIND 

JOHN  VAREY  NICHOLSON  was  stupid;  yet,  stu- 
I    pider  men  than  he  are  now  sprawling  in  Parliament, 

and  kuding  themselves  as  the  authors  of  their  own 
distinction.  He  was  of  a  fat  habit,  even  from  boyhood, 
and  inclined  to  a  cheerful  and  cursory  reading  of  the 
face  of  life;  and  possibly  this  attitude  of  mind  was  the 
original  cause  of  his  misfortunes.  Beyond  this  hint 
philosophy  is  silent  on  his  career,  and  superstition  steps 
in  with  the  more  ready  explanation  that  he  was  detested 
of  the  gods. 

His  father  —  that  iron  gentleman  —  had  long  ago  en- 
throned himself  on  the  heights  of  the  Disruption  Princi- 
ples. What  these  are  (and  in  spite  of  their  grim  name 
they  are  quite  innocent)  no  array  of  terms  would  render 
thinkable  to  the  merely  English  intelligence ;  but  to  the 
Scot  they  often  prove  unctuously  nourishing,  and  Mr. 
Nicholson  found  in  them  the  milk  of  lions.  About  the 
period  when  the  churches  convene  at  Edinburgh  in  their 
annual  assemblies,  he  was  to  be  seen  descending  the 

317 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

mound  in  the  company  of  divers  red-headed  clergymen: 
these  voluble,  he  only  contributing  oracular  nods,  brief 
negatives,  and  the  austere  spectacle  of  his  stretched  upper 
lip.  The  names  of  Candlish  and  Begg  were  frequent  in 
these  interviews,  and  occasionally  the  talk  ran  on  the 
Residuary  Establishment  and  the  doings  of  one  Lee.  A 
stranger  to  the  tight  little  theological  kingdom  of  Scot- 
land might  have  listened  and  gathered  literally  nothing. 
And  Mr.  Nicholson  (who  was  not  a  dull  man)  knew 
this,  and  raged  at  it.  He  knew  there  was  a  vast  world 
outside,  to  whom  Disruption  Principles  were  as  the  chat- 
ter of  tree-top  apes;  the  paper  brought  him  chill  whiffs 
from  it;  he  had  met  Englishmen  who  had  asked  lightly 
if  he  did  not  belong  to  the  Church  of  Scotland,  and  then 
had  failed  to  be  much  interested  by  his  elucidation  of 
that  nice  point;  it  was  an  evil,  wild,  rebellious  world, 
lying  sunk  in  doienedness,  for  nothing  short  of  a  Scot's 
word  will  paint  this  Scotsman's  feelings.  And  when 
he  entered  into  his  own  house  in  Randolph  Crescent 
(south  side),  and  shut  the  door  behind  him,  his  heart 
swelled  with  security.  Here,  at  least,  was  a  citadel  im- 
pregnable by  right-hand  defections  or  left-hand  ex- 
tremes. Here  was  a  family  where  prayers  came  at  the 
same  hour,  where  the  Sabbath  literature  was  unimpeach- 
ably  selected,  where  the  guest  who  should  have  leaned 
to  any  false  opinion  was  instantly  set  down,  and  over 
which  there  reigned  all  week,  and  grew  denser  on  Sun- 
days, a  silence  that  was  agreeable  to  his  ear,  and  a  gloom 
that  he  found  comfortable. 

Mrs.  Nicholson  had  died  about  thirty,  and  left  him 
with  three  children :  a  daughter  two  years,  and  a  son 
about  eight  years  younger  than  John ;  and  John  himself, 

318 


IN   WHICH  JOHN   SOWS  THE  WIND 

the  unlucky  bearer  of  a  name  infamous  in  English  his- 
tory. The  daughter,  Maria,  was  a  good  girl  —  dutiful, 
pious,  dull,  but  so  easily  startled  that  to  speak  to  her 
was  quite  a  perilous  enterprise.  "I  don't  think  1  care 
to  talk  about  that,  if  you  please,"  she  would  say,  and 
strike  the  boldest  speechless  by  her  unmistakable  pain ; 
this  upon  all  topics  —  dress,  pleasure,  morality,  politics, 
in  which  the  formula  was  changed  to  **  my  papa  thinks 
otherwise,"  and  even  religion,  unless  it  was  approached 
with  a  particular  whining  tone  of  voice.  Alexander,  the 
younger  brother,  was  sickly,  clever,  fond  of  books  and 
drawing,  and  full  of  satirical  remarks.  In  the  midst  of 
these,  imagine  that  natural,  clumsy,  unintelligent,  and 
mirthful  animal,  John;  mighty  well-behaved  in  com- 
parison with  other  lads,  although  not  up  to  the  mark  of 
the  house  in  Randolph  Crescent;  full  of  a  sort  of  blun- 
dering affection,  full  of  caresses  which  were  never  very 
warmly  received;  full  of  sudden  and  loud  laughter 
which  rang  out  in  that  still  house  like  curses.  Mr. 
Nicholson  himself  had  a  great  fund  of  humour,  of  the 
Scots  order  —  intellectual,  turning  on  the  observation 
of  men;  his  own  character,  for  instance — if  he  could 
have  seen  it  in  another  —  would  have  been  a  rare 
feast  to  him;  but  his  son's  empty  guffaws  over  a 
broken  plate,  and  empty,  almost  light-hearted  re- 
marks, struck  him  with  pain  as  the  indices  of  a  weak 
mind. 

Outside  the  family  John  had  early  attached  himself 
(much  as  a  dog  may  follow  a  marquis)  to  the  steps  of 
Alan  Houston,  a  lad  about  a  year  older  than  himself, 
idle,  a  trifle  wild,  the  heir  to  a  good  estate  which  was 
still  in  the  hands  of  a  rigorous  trustee,  and  so  royally 

3>9 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

content  with  himself  that  he  took  John's  devotion  as  a 
thing  of  course.  The  intimacy  was  gall  to  Mr.  Nichol- 
son ;  it  took  his  son  from  the  house,  and  he  was  a  jeal- 
ous parent ;  it  kept  him  from  the  office,  and  he  was  a 
martinet;  lastly,  Mr.  Nicholson  was  ambitious  for  his 
family  (in  which,  and  the  Disruption  Principles,  he  en- 
tirely lived),  and  he  hated  to  see  a  son  of  his  play  second 
fiddle  to  an  idler.  After  some  hesitation,  he  ordered 
that  the  friendship  should  cease  —  an  unfair  command, 
though  seemingly  inspired  by  the  spirit  of  prophecy; 
and  John,  saying  nothing,  continued  to  disobey  the  order 
under  the  rose. 

John  was  nearly  nineteen  when  he  was  one  day  dis- 
missed rather  earlier  than  usual  from  his  father's  office, 
where  he  was  studying  the  practice  of  the  law.  It  was 
Saturday;  and  except  that  he  had  a  matter  of  four  hun- 
dred pounds  in  his  pocket  which  it  was  his  duty  to  hand 
over  to  the  British  Linen  Company's  Bank,  he  had  the 
whole  afternoon  at  his  disposal.  He  went  by  Prince's 
Street  enjoying  the  mild  sunshine,  and  the  little  thrill 
of  easterly  wind  that  tossed  the  flags  along  that  terrace 
of  palaces,  and  tumbled  the  green  trees  in  the  garden. 
The  band  was  playing  down  in  the  valley  under  the 
castle;  and  when  it  came  to  the  turn  of  the  pipers,  he 
heard  their  wild  sounds  with  a  stirring  of  the  blood. 
Something  distantly  martial  woke  in  him;  and  he 
thought  of  Miss  Mackenzie,  whom  he  was  to  meet 
that  day  at  dinner. 

Now,  it  is  undeniable  that  he  should  have  gone  di- 
rectly to  the  bank,  but  right  in  the  way  stood  the  bil- 
liard-room of  the  hotel  where  Alan  was  almost  certain 
to  be  found ;  and  the  temptation  proved  too  strong.    He 

320 


IN    WHICH  JOHN   SOWS  THE   WIND 

entered  the  billiard-room,  and  was  instantly  greeted  by 
his  friend,  cue  in  hand. 

"Nicholson,"  said  he,  **I  want  you  to  lend  me  a 
pound  or  two  till  Monday." 

"  You've  come  to  the  right  shop,  haven't  you?"  re- 
turned John.     "  I  have  twopence." 

** Nonsense,"  said  Alan.  **  You  can  get  some.  Go 
and  borrow  at  your  tailor's;  they  all  do  it.  Or  I'll  tell 
you  what:  pop  your  watch." 

**0h,  yes,  I  dare  say,"  said  John.  **And  how  about 
my  father  ?  " 

"How  is  he  to  know.?  He  doesn't  wind  it  up  for 
you  at  night,  does  he  ?  "  inquired  Alan,  at  which  John 
guffawed.  "No,  seriously;  1  am  in  a  fix,"  continued 
the  tempter.  "  1  have  lost  some  money  to  a  man  here. 
I'll  give  it  you  to-night,  and  you  can  get  the  heir-loom 
out  again  on  Monday.  Come ;  it's  a  small  service,  after 
all.     I  would  do  a  good  deal  more  for  you." 

Whereupon  John  went  forth,  and  pawned  his  gold 
watch  under  the  assumed  name  of  John  Froggs,  85 
Pleasance.  But  the  nervousness  that  assailed  him  at 
the  door  of  that  inglorious  haunt  —  a  pawnshop  —  and 
the  effort  necessary  to  invent  the  pseudonym  (which, 
somehow,  seemed  to  him  a  necessary  part  of  the  pro- 
cedure), had  taken  more  time  than  he  imagined;  and 
when  he  returned  to  the  billiard-room  with  the  spoils, 
the  bank  had  already  closed  its  doors. 

This  was  a  shrewd  knock.  "A  piece  of  business 
had  been  neglected."  He  heard  these  words  in  his 
father's  trenchant  voice,  and  trembled,  and  then  dodged 
the  thought.  After  all,  who  was  to  know  ?  He  must 
carry  four  hundred  pounds  about  with  him  till  Mon- 

32! 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

day,  when  the  neglect  could  be  surreptitiously  repaired; 
and  meanwhile,  he  was  free  to  pass  the  afternoon  on 
the  encircling  divan  of  the  billiard-room,  smoking  his 
pipe,  sipping  a  pint  of  ale,  ^nd  enjoying  to  the  mast- 
head the  modest  pleasures  of  admiration. 

None  can  admire  like  a  young  man.  Of  all  youth's 
passions  and  pleasures,  this  is  the  most  common  and 
least  alloyed;  and  every  flash  of  Alan's  black  eyes; 
every  aspect  of  his  curly  head;  every  graceful  reach, 
every  easy,  stand-off  attitude  of  waiting ;  ay,  and  down 
to  his  shirt-sleeves  and  wrist-links,  were  seen  by  John 
through  a  luxurious  glory.  He  valued  himself  by  the 
possession  of  that  royal  friend,  hugged  himself  upon 
the  thought,  and  swam  in  warm  azure;  his  own  de- 
fects, like  vanquished  difficulties,  becoming  things  on 
which  to  plume  himself.  Only  when  he  thought  of 
Miss  Mackenzie  there  fell  upon  his  mind  a  shadow  of 
regret;  that  young  lady  was  worthy  of  better  things 
than  plain  John  Nicholson,  still  known  among  school- 
mates by  the  derisive  name  of  "  Fatty  ";  and  he  felt,  if 
he  could  chalk  a  cue,  or  stand  at  ease,  with  such  a  care- 
less grace  as  Alan,  he  could  approach  the  object  of  his 
sentiments  with  a  less  crushing  sense  of  inferiority. 

Before  they  parted,  Alan  made  a  proposal  that  was 
startling  in  the  extreme.  He  would  be  at  Colette's  that 
night  about  twelve,  he  said.  Why  should  not  John 
come  there  and  get  the  money  ?  To  go  to  Colette's 
was  to  see  life,  indeed;  it  was  wrong;  it  was  against 
the  laws;  it  partook,  in  a  very  dingy  manner,  of  adven- 
ture. Were  it  known,  it  was  the  sort  of  exploit  that 
disconsidered  a  young  man  for  good  with  the  more 
serious  classes,  but  gave  him  a  standing  with  the  riot- 

32a 


IN   WHICH  JOHN  SOWS  THE  WIND 

ous.  And  yet  Colette's  was  not  a  hell;  it  could  not 
come,  without  vaulting  hyperbole,  under  the  rubric  of 
a  gilded  saloon;  and,  if  it  was  a  sin  to  go  there,  the  sin 
was  merely  local  and  municipal.  Colette  (whose  name 
I  do  not  know  how  to  spell,  for  1  was  never  in  epis- 
tolary communication  with  that  hospitable  outlaw)  was 
simply  an  unlicensed  publican,  who  gave  suppers  after 
eleven  at  night,  the  Edinburgh  hour  of  closing.  If  you 
belonged  to  a  club,  you  could  get  a  much  better  supper 
at  the  same  hour,  and  lose  not  a  jot  in  public  esteem. 
But  if  you  lacked  that  qualification,  and  were  an  hun- 
gered, or  inclined  toward  conviviality  at  unlawful 
hours,  Colette's  was  your  only  port.  You  were  very 
ill-supplied.  The  company  was  not  recruited  from  the 
Senate  or  the  Church,  though  the  Bar  was  very  well 
represented  on  the  only  occasion  on  which  I  flew  in 
the  face  of  my  country's  laws,  and,  taking  my  reputa- 
tion in  my  hand,  penetrated  into  that  grim  supper- 
house.  And  Colette's  frequenters,  thrillingly  conscious 
of  wrong-doing  and  **that  two-handed  engine  (the 
policeman)  at  the  door,"  were  perhaps  inclined  to 
somewhat  feverish  excess.  But  the  place  was  in  no 
sense  a  very  bad  one ;  and  it  is  somewhat  strange  to 
me,  at  this  distance  of  time,  how  it  had  acquired  its 
dangerous  repute. 

In  precisely  the  same  spirit  as  a  man  may  debate  a 
project  to  ascend  the  Matterhorn  or  to  cross  Africa, 
John  considered  Alan's  proposal,  and,  greatly  daring, 
accepted  it.  As  he  walked  home,  the  thoughts  of  this 
excursion  out  of  the  safe  places  of  life  into  the  wild  and 
arduous,  stirred  and  struggled  in  his  imagination  with 
the  image  of  Miss  Mackenzie  —  incongruous  and  yet 

323 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

kindred  thoughts,  for  did  not  each  imply  unusual 
tightening  of  the  pegs  of  resolution  ?  did  not  each  woo 
him  forth  and  warn  him  back  again  into  himself? 

Between  these  two  considerations,  at  least,  he  was 
more  than  usually  moved ;  and  when  he  got  to  Ran- 
dolph Crescent,  he  quite  forgot  the  four  hundred  pounds 
in  the  inner  pocket  of  his  great-coat,  hung  up  the  coat, 
with  its  rich  freight,  upon  his  particular  pin  of  the  hat- 
stand;  and  in  the  very  action  sealed  his  doom. 


324 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  WHICH  JOHN   REAPS  THE  WHIRLWIND 

About  half  past  ten  it  was  John's  brave  good  fortune 
to  offer  his  arm  to  Miss  Mackenzie,  and  escort  her 
home.  The  night  was  chill  and  starry;  all  the  way 
eastward  the  trees  of  the  different  gardens  rustled  and 
looked  black.  Up  the  stone  gully  of  Leith  Walk,  when 
they  came  to  cross  it,  the  breeze  made  a  rush  and  set 
the  flames  of  the  street-lamps  quavering;  and  when  at 
last  they  had  mounted  to  the  Royal  Terrace,  where 
Captain  Mackenzie  lived,  a  great  salt  freshness  came  in 
their  faces  from  the  sea.  These  phases  of  the  walk  re- 
mained written  on  John's  memory,  each  emphasized  by 
the  touch  of  that  light  hand  on  his  arm ;  and  behind  all 
these  aspects  of  the  nocturnal  city  he  saw,  in  his  mind's 
eye,  a  picture  of  the  lighted  drawing-room  at  home 
where  he  had  sat  talking  with  Flora;  and  his  father, 
from  the  other  end,  had  looked  on  with  a  kind  and 
ironical  smile.  John  had  read  the  significance  of  that 
smile,  which  might  have  escaped  a  stranger.  Mr. 
Nicholson  had  remarked  his  son's  entanglement  with 
satisfaction,  tinged  by  humour;  and  his  smile,  if  it  still 
was  a  thought  contemptuous,  had  implied  consent. 

At  the  captain's  door  the  girl  held  out  her  hand,  with 
a  certain  emphasis;  and  John  took  it  and  kept  it  a  little 

3^5 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

longer,  and  said,  *' Good-night,  Flora,  dear,"  and  was 
instantly  thrown  into  much  fear  by  his  presumption. 
But  she  only  laughed,  ran  up  the  steps,  and  rang  the 
bell;  and  while  she  was  waiting  for  the  door  to  open, 
kept  close  in  the  porch,  and  talked  to  him  from  that 
point  as  out  of  a  fortification.  She  had  a  knitted  shawl 
over  her  head;  her  blue  Highland  eyes  took  the  light 
from  the  neighbouring  street-lamp  and  sparkled;  and 
when  the  door  opened  and  closed  upon  her,  John  felt 
cruelly  alone. 

He  proceeded  slowly  back  along  the  terrace  in  a  ten- 
der glow;  and  when  he  came  to  Greenside  Church,  he 
halted  in  a  doubtful  mind.  Over  the  crown  of  the  Gal- 
ton  Hill,  to  his  left,  lay  the  way  to  Colette's,  where  Alan 
would  soon  be  looking  for  his  arrival,  and  where  he  would 
now  have  no  more  consented  to  go  than  he  would  have 
willfully  wallowed  in  a  bog;  the  touch  of  the  girl's  hand 
on  his  sleeve,  and  the  kindly  light  in  his  father's  eyes, 
both  loudly  forbidding.  But  right  before  him  was  the 
way  home,  which  pointed  only  to  bed,  a  place  of  little 
ease  for  one  whose  fancy  was  strung  to  the  lyrical  pitch, 
and  whose  not  very  ardent  heart  was  just  then  tumultu- 
ously  moved.  The  hill-top,  the  cool  air  of  the  night, 
the  company  of  the  great  monuments,  the  sight  of  the 
city  under  his  feet,  with  its  hills  and  valleys  and  crossing 
files  of  lamps,  drew  him  by  all  he  had  of  the  poetic,  and 
he  turned  that  way ;  and  by  that  quite  innocent  deflec- 
tion, ripened  the  crop  of  his  venial  errors  for  the  sickle 
of  destiny. 

On  a  seat  on  the  hill  above  Greenside  he  sat  for  per- 
haps half  an  hour,  looking  down  upon  the  lamps  of 
Edinburgh,  and  up  at  the  lamps  of  heaven.     Wonderful 

326 


IN  WHICH  JOHN   REAPS  THE  WHIRLWIND 

were  the  resolves  he  formed ;  beautiful  and  kindly  were 
the  vistas  of  future  life  that  sped  before  him.  He  uttered 
to  himself  the  name  of  Flora  in  so  many  touching  and 
dramatic  keys,  that  he  became  at  length  fairly  melted 
with  tenderness,  and  could  have  sung  aloud.  At  that 
juncture  a  certain  creasing  in  his  great-coat  caught  his 
ear.  He  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  pulled  forth  the 
envelope  that  held  the  money,  and  sat  stupefied.  The 
Calton  Hill,  about  this  period,  had  an  ill  name  of  nights; 
and  to  be  sitting  there  with  four  hundred  pounds  that 
did  not  belong  to  him  was  hardly  wise.  He  looked  up. 
There  was  a  man  in  a  very  bad  hat  a  little  on  one  side 
of  him,  apparently  looking  at  the  scenery ;  from  a  little 
on  the  other  a  second  night-walker  was  drawing  very 
quietly  near.  Up  jumped  John.  The  envelope  fell  from 
his  hands ;  he  stooped  to  get  it,  and  at  the  same  moment 
both  men  ran  in  and  closed  with  him. 

A  little  after,  he  got  to  his  feet  very  sore  and  shaken, 
the  poorer  by  a  purse  which  contained  exactly  one  penny 
postage-stamp,  by  a  cambric  handkerchief,  and  by  the 
all-important  envelope. 

Here  was  a  young  man  on  whom,  at  the  highest  point 
of  loverly  exaltation,  there  had  fallen  a  blow  too  sharp 
to  be  supported  alone;  and  not  many  hundred  yards 
away  his  greatest  friend  was  sitting  at  supper  —  ay,  and 
even  expecting  him.  Was  it  not  in  the  nature  of  man 
that  he  should  run  there  ?  He  went  in  quest  of  sym- 
pathy—  in  quest  of  that  droll  article  that  we  all  suppose 
ourselves  to  want  when  in  a  strait,  and  have  agreed  to 
call  advice;  and  he  went,  besides,  with  vague  but  rather 
splendid  expectations  of  relief.  Alan  was  rich,  or  would 
be  so  when  he  came  of  age.    By  a  stroke  of  the  pen  he 

327 


THE  MISADVENTURES   OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

might  remedy  this  misfortune,  and  avert  that  dreaded 
interview  with  Mr.  Nicholson,  from  which  John  now 
shrunk  in  imagination  as  the  hand  draws  back  from  fire. 

Close  under  the  Calton  Hill  there  runs  a  certain  narrow 
avenue,  part  street,  part  by-road.  The  head  of  it  faces 
the  doors  of  the  prison ;  its  tail  descends  into  the  sunless 
slums  of  the  Low  Calton.  On  one  hand  it  is  overhung 
by  the  crags  of  the  hill,  on  the  other  by  an  old  grave- 
yard. Between  these  two  the  road-way  runs  in  a  trench, 
sparsely  lighted  at  night,  sparsely  frequented  by  day, 
and  bordered,  when  it  was  cleared  the  place  of  tombs, 
by  dingy  and  ambiguous  houses.  One  of  these  was  the 
house  of  Colette ;  and  at  his  door  our  ill-starred  John  was 
presently  beating  for  admittance.  In  an  evil  hour  he 
satisfied  the  jealous  inquiries  of  the  contraband  hotel- 
keeper;  in  an  evil  hour  he  penetrated  into  the  somewhat 
unsavoury  interior.  Alan,  to  be  sure,  was  there,  seated 
in  a  room  lighted  by  noisy  gas-jets,  beside  a  dirty  table- 
cloth, engaged  on  a  coarse  meal,  and  in  the  company  of 
several  tipsy  members  of  the  junior  bar.  But  Alan  was 
not  sober;  he  had  lost  a  thousand  pounds  upon  a  horse- 
race, had  received  the  news  at  dinner-time,  and  was 
now,  in  default  of  any  possible  means  of  extrication, 
drowning  the  memory  of  his  predicament.  He  to  help 
John !  The  thing  was  impossible ;  he  couldn't  help  him- 
self. 

'*If  you  have  a  beast  of  a  father,"  said  he,  *'I  can  tell 
you  I  have  a  brute  of  a  trustee." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  hear  my  father  called  a  beast,"  said 
John,  with  a  beating  heart,  feeling  that  he  risked  the  last 
sound  rivet  of  the  chain  that  bound  him  to  life. 

But  Alan  was  quite  good-natured. 
328 


IN   WHICH  JOHN   REAPS  THE  WHIRLWIND 

"All  right,  old  fellow,"  said  he.  **Mos'  respec'able 
man  your  father."  And  he  introduced  his  friend  to  his 
companions  as  **  old  Nicholson  the  what-d'ye-call-um's 
son." 

John  sat  in  dumb  agony.  Colette's  foul  walls  and 
maculate  table-linen,  and  even  down  to  Colette's  vil- 
lainous casters,  seemed  like  objects  in  a  nightmare.  And 
just  then  there  came  a  knock  and  a  scurrying;  the  police, 
so  lamentably  absent  from  the  Calton  Hill,  appeared  upon 
the  scene;  and  the  party,  taken  flagrante  delicto,  with 
their  glasses  at  their  elbow,  were  seized,  marched  up  to 
the  police  office,  and  all  duly  summoned  to  appear  as 
witnesses  in  the  consequent  case  against  that  arch-she- 
beener,  Colette. 

It  was  a  sorrowful  and  a  mightily  sobered  company 
that  came  forth  again.  The  vague  terror  of  public  opin- 
ion weighed  generally  on  them  all;  but  there  were  pri- 
vate and  particular  horrors  on  the  minds  of  individuals. 
Alan  stood  in  dread  of  his  trustee,  already  sorely  tried. 
One  of  the  group  was  the  son  of  a  country  minister,  an- 
other of  a  judge;  John,  the  unhappiest  of  all,  had  David 
Nicholson  to  father,  the  idea  of  facing  whom  on  such  a 
scandalous  subject  was  physically  sickening.  They  stood 
awhile  consulting  under  the  buttresses  of  Saint  Giles; 
thence  they  adjourned  to  the  lodgings  of  one  of  the 
number  in  North  Castle  Street,  where  (for  that  matter) 
they  might  have  had  quite  as  good  a  supper,  and  far 
better  drink,  than  in  the  dangerous  paradise  from  which 
they  had  been  routed.  There,  over  an  almost  tearful 
glass,  they  debated  their  position.  Each  explained  he 
had  the  world  to  lose  if  the  affair  went  on,  and  he  ap- 
peared as  a  witness.     It  was  remarkable  what  bright 

329 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

prospects  were  just  then  in  the  very  act  of  opening  be- 
fore each  of  that  little  company  of  youths,  and  what  pious 
consideration  for  the  feelings  of  their  families  began  now 
to  well  from  them.  Each,  moreover,  was  in  an  odd  state 
of  destitution.  Not  one  could  bear  his  share  of  the  fine ; 
not  one  but  evinced  a  wonderful  twinkle  of  hope  that 
each  of  the  others  (in  succession)  was  the  very  man  who 
could  step  in  to  make  good  the  deficit.  One  took  a  high 
hand;  he  could  not  pay  his  share;  if  it  went  to  a  trial, 
he  should  bolt;  he  had  always  felt  the  English  Bar  to  be 
his  true  sphere.  Another  branched  out  into  touching 
details  about  his  family,  and  was  not  listened  to.  John, 
in  the  midst  of  this  disorderly  competition  of  poverty  and 
meanness,  sat  stunned,  contemplating  the  mountain  bulk 
of  his  misfortunes. 

At  last,  upon  a  pledge  that  each  should  apply  to  his 
family  with  a  common  frankness,  this  convention  of  un- 
happy young  asses  broke  up,  went  down  the  common 
stair,  and  in  the  grey  of  the  spring  morning,  with  the 
streets  lying  dead  empty  all  about  them,  the  lamps  burn- 
ing on  into  the  daylight  in  diminished  luster,  and  the 
birds  beginning  to  sound  premonitory  notes  from  the 
groves  of  the  town  gardens,  went  each  his  own  way 
with  bowed  head  and  echoing  footfall. 

The  rooks  were  awake  in  Randolph  Crescent ;  but  the 
windows  looked  down,  discreetly  blinded,  on  the  re- 
turn of  the  prodigal.  John's  pass-key  was  a  recent 
privilege;  this  was  the  first  time  it  had  been  used;  and, 
oh!  with  what  a  sickening  sense  of  his  unworthiness 
he  now  inserted  it  into  the  well-oiled  lock  and  entered 
that  citadel  of  the  proprieties!  All  slept;  the  gas  in  the 
hall  had  been  left  faintly  burning  to  light  his  return ;  a 

330 


IN  WHICH  JOHN   REAPS  THE  WHIRLWIND 

dreadful  stillness  reigned,  broken  by  the  deep  ticking  of 
the  eight-day  clock.  He  put  the  gas  out,  and  sat  on  a 
chair  in  the  hall,  waiting  and  counting  the  minutes, 
longing  for  any  human  countenance.  But  when  at  last 
he  heard  the  alarm  spring  its  rattle  in  the  lower  story, 
and  the  servants  begin  to  be  about,  he  instantly  lost 
heart,  and  fled  to  his  own  room,  where  he  threw  him- 
self upon  the  bed. 


»> 


CHAPTER  III 

IN  WHICH  JOHN   ENJOYS  THE   HARVEST  HOME 

Shortly  after  breakfast,  at  which  he  assisted  with  a 
highly  tragical  countenance,  John  sought  his  father 
where  he  sat,  presumably  in  religious  meditation,  on 
the  Sabbath  mornings.  The  old  gentleman  looked  up 
with  that  sour,  inquisitive  expression  that  came  so  near 
to  smiling  and  was  so  different  in  effect. 

**This  is  a  time  when  I  do  not  like  to  be  disturbed," 
he  said. 

"I  know  that,"  returned  John;  **but  I  have  —  I  want 
—  I've  made  a  dreadful  mess  of  it,"  he  broke  out,  and 
turned  to  the  window. 

Mr.  Nicholson  sat  silent  for  an  appreciable  time,  while 
his  unhappy  son  surveyed  the  poles  in  the  back  green, 
and  a  certain  yellow  cat  that  was  perched  upon  the 
wall.  Despair  sat  upon  John  as  he  gazed ;  and  he  raged 
to  think  of  the  dreadful  series  of  his  misdeeds,  and  the 
essential  innocence  that  lay  behind  them. 

**  Well,"  said  the  father,  with  an  obvious  effort,  but 
in  very  quiet  tones,  "  what  is  it  ?" 

**  Maclean  gave  me  four  hundred  pounds  to  put  in  the 
bank,  sir,"  began  John;  **and  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  I've 
been  robbed  of  it!" 

"  Robbed  of  it  ?"  cried  Mr.  Nicholson,  with  a  strong 
332 


IN   WHICH  JOHN   ENJOYS  THE  HARVEST  HOME 

rising  inflection.  * '  Robbed  ?  Be  careful  what  you  say, 
John!" 

"I  can't  say  anything  else,  sir;  I  was  just  robbed  of 
it,"  said  John,  in  desperation,  sullenly. 

*' And  where  and  when  did  this  extraordinary  event 
take  place  ?  "  inquired  the  father. 

*'0n  the  Calton  Hill  about  twelve  last  night." 

"The  Calton  Hill  ? "  repeated  Mr.  Nicholson.  "  And 
what  were  you  doing  there  at  such  a  time  of  the 
night?" 

'*  Nothing,  sir,"  says  John. 

Mr.  Nicholson  drew  in  his  breath. 

"And  how  came  the  money  in  your  hands  at  twelve 
last  night?"  he  asked,  sharply. 

"I  neglected  that  piece  of  business,"  said  John,  an- 
ticipating comment;  and  then  in  his  own  dialect:  "I 
clean  forgot  all  about  it." 

"Well,"  said  his  father,  "it's  a  most  extraordinary 
story.     Have  you  communicated  with  the  police  ?" 

"I  have,"  answered  poor  John,  the  blood  leaping  to 
his  face.  "They  think  they  know  the  men  that  did  it. 
I  dare  say  the  money  will  be  recovered,  if  that  was  all," 
said  he,  with  a  desperate  indifference,  which  his  father 
set  down  to  levity ;  but  which  sprung  from  the  con- 
sciousness of  worse  behind. 

"Your  mother's  watch,  too?"  asked  Mr.  Nicholson. 

"Oh,  the  watch  is  all  right!"  cried  John.  "At 
least,  I  mean  I  was  coming  to  the  watch  —  the  fact  is, 
I  am  ashamed  to  say,  I  —  I  had  pawned  the  watch  be- 
fore. Here  is  the  ticket ;  they  didn't  find  that ;  the  watch 
can  be  redeemed;  they  don't  sell  pledges."  The  lad 
panted  out  these  phrases,  one  after  another,  like  minute 

333 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

guns;  but  at  the  last  word,  which  rang  in  that  stately 
chamber  like  an  oath,  his  heart  failed  him  utterly ;  and 
the  dreaded  silence  settled  on  father  and  son. 

It  was  broken  by  Mr.  Nicholson  picking  up  the  pawn- 
ticket: "John  Froggs,  85  Pleasance,"  he  read;  and  then 
turning  upon  John,  with  a  brief  flash  of  passion  and  dis- 
gust, **Who  is  John  Froggs.?"  he  cried. 

** Nobody,"  said  John.     ''It  was  just  a  name." 

*' An  alias/'  his  father  commented. 

"Oh!  I  think  scarcely  quite  that,"  said  the  culprit; 
"it's  a  form,  they  all  do  it,  the  man  seemed  to  under- 
stand, we  had  a  great  deal  of  fun  over  the  name  —  " 

He  paused  at  that,  for  he  saw  his  father  wince  at  the 
picture  like  a  man  physically  struck;  and  again  there 
was  silence. 

"  1  do  not  think,"  said  Mr.  Nicholson,  at  last,  "that 
I  am  an  ungenerous  father.  I  have  never  grudged  you 
money  within  reason,  for  any  avowable  purpose;  you 
had  just  to  come  to  me  and  speak.  And  now  I  find 
that  you  have  forgotten  all  decency  and  all  natural  feel- 
ing, and  actually  pawned  —  pawned  —  your  mother's 
watch.  You  must  have  had  some  temptation;  I  will 
do  you  the  justice  to  suppose  it  was  a  strong  one. 
What  did  you  want  with  this  money  ?" 

"I  would  rather  not  tell  you,  sir,"  said  John.  "It 
will  only  make  you  angry." 

' '  I  will  not  be  fenced  with, "  cried  his  father.  ' '  There 
must  be  an  end  of  disingenuous  answers.  What  did 
you  want  with  this  money  ?  " 

"To  lend  it  to  Houston,  sir,"  says  John. 

"  I  thought  I  had  forbidden  you  to  speak  to  that  young 
man  }  "  asked  the  father. 

334 


IN   WHICH  JOHN   ENJOYS  THE  HARVEST   HOME 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  John;  "but  I  only  met  him." 

"Where?"  came  the  deadly  question. 

And  "In  a  billiard-room"  was  the  damning  answer. 
Thus,  had  John's  single  departure  from  the  truth  brought 
instant  punishment.  For  no  other  purpose  but  to  see 
Alan  would  he  have  entered  a  billiard-room ;  but  he  had 
desired  to  palliate  the  fact  of  his  disobedience,  and  now 
it  appeared  that  he  frequented  these  disreputable  haunts 
upon  his  own  account. 

Once  more  Mr.  Nicholson  digested  the  vile  tidings  in 
silence;  and  when  John  stole  a  glance  at  his  father's 
countenance,  he  was  abashed  to  see  the  marks  of  suffer- 
ing. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  at  last,  "I  cannot 
pretend  not  to  be  simply  bowed  down.  1  rose  this 
morning  what  the  world  calls  a  happy  man  —  happy, 
at  least,  in  a  son  of  whom  I  thought  I  could  be  reason- 
ably proud — " 

But  it  was  beyond  human  nature  to  endure  this  lon- 
ger, and  John  interrupted  almost  with  a  scream.  "Oh, 
wheest! "  he  cried,  "that's  not  all,  that's  not  the  worst 
of  it  —  it's  nothing!  How  could  I  tell  you  were  proud 
of  me  ?  Oh !  I  wish,  I  wish  that  I  had  known ;  but  you 
always  said  I  was  such  a  disgrace!  And  the  dreadful 
thing  is  this:  we  were  all  taken  up  last  night,  and  we 
have  to  pay  Colette's  fine  among  the  six,  or  we'll  be  had 
up  for  evidence  —  shebeening  it  is.  They  made  me 
swear  to  tell  you;  but  for  my  part,"  he  cried,  bursting 
into  tears,  "  I  just  wish  that  I  was  dead!  "  And  he  fell 
on  his  knees  before  a  chair  and  hid  his  face. 

Whether  his  father  spoke,  or  whether  he  remained 
long  in  the  room  or  at  once  departed,  are  points  lost  to 

3^5 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

history.  A  horrid  turmoil  of  mind  and  body;  bursting 
sobs;  broken,  vanishing  thoughts,  now  of  indignation, 
now  of  remorse;  broken  elementary  whiffs  of  con- 
sciousness, of  the  smell  of  the  horse-hair  on  the  chair 
bottom,  of  the  jangling  of  church  bells  that  now  began 
to  make  day  horrible  throughout  the  confines  of  the 
city,  of  the  hard  floor  that  bruised  his  knees,  of  the  taste 
of  tears  that  found  their  way  into  his  mouth :  for  a  pe- 
riod of  time,  the  duration  of  which  I  cannot  guess, 
while  I  refuse  to  dwell  longer  on  its  agony,  these  were 
the  whole  of  God's  world  for  John  Nicholson. 

When  at  last,  as  by  the  touching  of  a  spring,  he  re- 
turned again  to  clearness  of  consciousness  and  even  a 
measure  of  composure,  the  bells  had  but  just  done  ring- 
ing, and  the  Sabbath  silence  was  still  marred  by  the 
patter  of  belated  feet.  By  the  clock  above  the  fire,  as 
well  as  by  these  more  speaking  signs,  the  service  had 
not  long  begun ;  and  the  unhappy  sinner,  if  his  father 
had  really  gone  to  church,  might  count  on  near  two 
hours  of  only  comparative  unhappiness.  With  his 
father,  the  superlative  degree  returned  infallibly.  He 
knew  it  by  every  shrinking  fiber  in  his  body,  he  knew 
it  by  the  sudden  dizzy  whirling  of  his  brain,  at  the  mere 
thought  of  that  calamity.  An  hour  and  a  half,  perhaps 
an  hour  and  three  quarters,  if  the  doctor  was  long- 
winded,  and  then  would  begin  again  that  active  agony 
from  which,  even  in  the  dull  ache  of  the  present,  he 
shrunk  as  from  the  bite  of  fire.  He  saw,  in  a  vision, 
the  family  pew,  the  somnolent  cushions,  the  Bibles,  the 
psalm-books,  Maria  with  her  smelling-salts,  his  father 
sitting  spectacled  and  critical;  and  at  once  he  was  struck 
with  indignation,  not  unjustly.     It  was  inhuman  to  go 

336 


IN  WHICH  JOHN  ENJOYS  THE  HARVEST  HOME 

off  to  church,  and  leave  a  sinner  in  suspense,  unpun- 
ished, unforgiven.  And  at  the  very  touch  of  criticism, 
the  paternal  sanctity  was  lessened ;  yet  the  paternal  ter- 
ror only  grew ;  and  the  two  strands  of  feeling  pushed 
him  in  the  same  direction. 

And  suddenly  there  came  upon  him  a  mad  fear  lest 
his  father  should  have  locked  him  in.  The  notion  had 
no  ground  in  sense;  it  was  probably  no  more  than  a 
reminiscence  of  similar  calamities  in  childhood,  for  his 
father's  room  had  always  been  the  chamber  of  inquisi- 
tion and  the  scene  of  punishment;  but  it  stuck  so  rig- 
orously in  his  mind  that  he  must  instantly  approach  the 
door  and  prove  its  untruth.  As  he  went,  he  struck 
upon  a  drawer  left  open  in  the  business  table.  It  was 
the  money-drawer,  a  measure  of  his  father's  disarray : 
the  money-drawer — perhaps  a  pointing  providence! 
Who  is  to  decide,  when  even  divines  differ  between  a 
providence  and  a  temptation  ?  or  who,  sitting  calmly 
under  his  own  vine,  is  to  pass  a  judgment  on  the  doings  of 
a  poor,  hunted  dog,  slavishly  afraid,  slavishly  rebellious, 
like  John  Nicholson  on  that  particular  Sunday  ?  His  hand 
was  in  the  drawer,  almost  before  his  mind  had  con- 
ceived the  hope;  and  rising  to  his  new  situation,  he 
wrote,  sitting  in  his  father's  chair  and  using  his  father's 
blotting-pad,  his  pitiful  apology  and  farewell: 


"  My  dear  Father, —  I  have  taken  the  money,  but  I  will  pay  it  back 
as  soon  as  I  am  able.  You  will  never  hear  of  me  again.  I  did  not 
mean  any  harm  by  anything,  so  I  hope  you  will  try  and  forgive  me. 
I  wish  you  would  say  good-bye  to  Alexander  and  Maria,  but  not  if  you 
don't  want  to,  I  could  not  wait  to  see  you,  really.  Please  try  to  for- 
give me.     Your  aflfectionate  son, 

"John  Nicholson." 

337 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

The  coins  abstracted  and  the  missive  written,  he  could 
not  be  gone  too  soon  from  the  scene  of  these  transgres- 
sions; and  remembering  how  his  father  had  once  re- 
turned from  church,  on  some  slight  illness,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  second  psalm,  he  durst  not  even  make  a 
packet  of  a  change  of  clothes.  Attired  as  he  was,  he 
slipped  from  the  paternal  doors,  and  found  himself 
in  the  cool  spring  air,  the  thin  spring  sunshine,  and 
the  great  Sabbath  quiet  of  the  city,  which  was  now 
only  pointed  by  the  cawing  of  the  rooks.  There  was 
not  a  soul  in  Randolph  Crescent,  nor  a  soul  in  Queens- 
ferry  Street;  in  this  out-door  privacy  and  the  sense  of 
escape,  John  took  heart  again ;  and  with  a  pathetic  sense 
of  leave-taking,  he  even  ventured  up  the  lane  and  stood 
awhile,  a  strange  peri  at  the  gates  of  a  quaint  paradise, 
by  the  west  end  of  St.  George's  Church.  They  were 
singing  within ;  and  by  a  strange  chance,  the  tune  was 
"St.  George's,  Edinburgh,"  which  bears  the  name,  and 
was  first  sung  in  the  choir  of  that  church.  "Who  is 
this  King  of  Glory  ?  "  went  the  voices  from  within ;  and, 
to  John,  this  was  like  the  end  of  all  Christian  observ- 
ances, for  he  was  now  to  be  a  wild  man  like  Ishmael, 
and  his  life  was  to  be  cast  in  homeless  places  and  with 
godless  people. 

It  was  thus,  with  no  rising  sense  of  the  adventurous, 
but  in  mere  desolation  and  despair,  that  he  turned  his 
back  on  his  native  city,  and  set  out  on  foot  for  Cali- 
fornia, with  a  more  immediate  eye  to  Glasgow. 


>38 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  SECOND  SOWING 

It  is  no  part  of  mine  to  narrate  the  adventures  of  John 
Nicholson,  which  were  many,  but  simply  his  more  mo- 
mentous misadventures,  which  were  more  than  he  de- 
sired, and,  by  human  standards,  more  than  he  deserved; 
how  he  reached  California,  how  he  was  rooked,  and 
robbed,  and  beaten,  and  starved;  how  he  was  at  last 
taken  up  by  charitable  folk,  restored  to  some  degree  of 
self-complacency,  and  installed  as  a  clerk  in  a  bank  in 
San  Francisco,  it  would  take  too  long  to  tell;  nor  in 
these  episodes  were  there  any  marks  of  the  peculiar 
Nicholsonic  destiny,  for  they  were  just  such  matters  as 
befell  some  thousands  of  other  young  adventurers  in  the 
same  days  and  places.  But  once  posted  in  the  bank, 
he  fell  for  a  time  into  a  high  degree  of  good  fortune, 
which,  as  it  was  only  a  longer  way  about  to  fresh  dis- 
aster, it  behooves  me  to  explain. 

It  was  his  luck  to  meet  a  young  man  in  what  is  tech- 
nically called  a  "dive,"  and  thanks  to  his  monthly 
wages,  to  extricate  this  new  acquaintance  from  a  posi- 
tion of  present  disgrace  and  possible  danger  in  the  fu- 
ture. This  young  man  was  the  nephew  of  one  of  the 
Nob  Hill  magnates,  who  run  the  San  Francisco  Stock 
Exchange,  much  as  more  humble  adventurers,  in  the 

339 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

corner  of  some  public  park  at  home,  may  be  seen  to 
perform  the  simple  artifice  of  pea  and  thimble :  for  their 
own  profit,  that  is  to  say,  and  the  discouragement  of 
public  gambling.  It  was  thus  in  his  power — and,  as 
he  was  of  grateful  temper,  it  was  among  the  things  that 
he  desired  —  to  put  John  in  the  way  of  growing  rich; 
and  thus,  without  thought  or  industry,  or  so  much  as 
even  understanding  the  game  at  which  he  played,  but 
by  simply  buying  and  selling  what  he  was  told  to  buy 
and  sell,  that  plaything  of  fortune  was  presently  at  the 
head  of  between  eleven  and  twelve  thousand  pounds, 
or,  as  he  reckoned  it,  of  upward  of  sixty  thousand  dol- 
lars. 

How  he  had  come  to  deserve  this  wealth,  any  more 
than  how  he  had  formerly  earned  disgrace  at  home,  was 
a  problem  beyond  the  reach  of  his  philosophy.  It  was 
true  that  he  had  been  industrious  at  the  bank,  but  no 
more  so  than  the  cashier,  who  had  seven  small  children 
and  was  visibly  sinking  in  decline.  Nor  was  the  step 
which  had  determined  his  advance  —  a  visit  to  a  dive 
with  a  month's  wages  in  his  pocket  —  an  act  of  such 
transcendent  virtue,  or  even  wisdom,  as  to  seem  to 
merit  the  favor  of  the  gods.  From  some  sense  of  this, 
and  of  the  dizzy  see-saw  —  heaven-high,  hell-deep  —  on 
which  men  sit  clutching;  or  perhaps  fearing  that  the 
sources  of  his  fortune  might  be  insidiously  traced  to 
some  root  in  the  field  of  petty  cash ;  he  stuck  to  his  work, 
said  not  a  word  of  his  new  circumstances,  and  kept  his 
account  with  a  bank  in  a  different  quarter  of  the  town. 
The  concealment,  innocent  as  it  seems,  was  the  first 
step  in  the  second  tragi-comedy  of  John's  existence. 

Meanwhile,  he  had  never  written  home.  Whether 
340 


THE  SECOND  SOWING 

from  diffidence  or  shame,  or  a  touch  of  anger,  or  mere 
procrastination,  or  because  (as  we  have  seen)  he  had  no 
skill  in  literary  arts,  or  because  (as  I  am  sometimes 
tempted  to  suppose)  there  is  a  law  in  human  nature  that 
prevents  young  men  —  not  otherwise  beasts  —  from  the 
performance  of  this  simple  act  of  piety  —  months  and 
years  had  gone  by,  and  John  had  never  written.  The 
habit  of  not  writing,  indeed,  was  already  fixed  before  he 
had  begun  to  come  into  his  fortune ;  and  it  was  only  the 
difficulty  of  breaking  this  long  silence  that  withheld  him 
from  an  instant  restitution  of  the  money  he  had  stolen 
or  (as  he  preferred  to  call  it)  borrowed.  In  vain  he  sat 
before  paper,  attending  on  inspiration;  that  heavenly 
nymph,  beyond  suggesting  the  words  *  *  my  dear  father,  '* 
remained  obstinately  silent;  and  presently  John  would 
crumple  up  the  sheet  and  decide,  as  soon  as  he  had  "a 
good  chance,"  to  carry  the  money  home  in  person.  And 
this  delay,  which  is  indefensible,  was  his  second  step 
into  the  snares  of  fortune. 

Ten  years  had  passed,  and  John  was  drawing  near  to 
thirty.  He  had  kept  the  promise  of  his  boyhood,  and 
was  now  of  a  lusty  frame,  verging  toward  corpulence; 
good  features,  good  eyes,  a  genial  manner,  a  ready  laugh, 
a  long  pair  of  sandy  whiskers,  a  dash  of  an  American 
accent,  a  close  familiarity  with  the  great  American  joke, 
and  a  certain  likeness  to  a  R-y-1  P-rs-a-ge,  who  shall 
remain  nameless  for  me,  made  up  the  man's  externals 
as  he  could  be  viewed  in  society.  Inwardly,  in  spite 
of  his  gross  body  and  highly  masculine  whiskers,  he 
was  more  like  a  maiden  lady  than  a  man  of  twenty- 
nine. 

It  chanced  one  day,  as  he  was  strolling  down  Market 
34' 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

Street  on  the  eve  of  his  fortnight's  holiday,  that  his  eye 
was  caught  by  certain  railway  bills,  and  in  very  idleness 
of  mind  he  calculated  that  he  might  be  home  for  Christ- 
mas if  he  started  on  the  morrow.  The  fancy  thrilled 
him  with  desire,  and  in  one  moment  he  decided  he 
would  go. 

There  was  much  to  be  done:  his  portmanteau  to  be 
packed,  a  credit  to  be  got  from  the  bank  where  he  was 
a  wealthy  customer,  and  certain  offices  to  be  transacted 
for  that  other  bank  in  which  he  was  an  humble  clerk ; 
and  it  chanced,  in  conformity  with  human  nature,  that 
out  of  all  this  business  it  was  the  last  that  came  to  be 
neglected.  Night  found  him,  not  only  equipped  with 
money  of  his  own,  but  once  more  (as  on  that  former 
occasion)  saddled  with  a  considerable  sum  of  other 
people's. 

Now  it  chanced  there  lived  in  the  same  boarding- 
house  a  fellow-clerk  of  his,  an  honest  fellow,  with  what 
is  called  a  weakness  for  drink  —  though  it  might,  in 
this  case,  have  been  called  a  strength,  for  the  victim 
had  been  drunk  for  weeks  together  without  the  briefest 
intermission.  To  this  unfortunate  John  intrusted  a  let- 
ter with  an  inclosure  of  bonds,  addressed  to  the  bank 
manager.  Even  as  he  did  so  he  thought  he  perceived 
a  certain  haziness  of  eye  and  speech  in  his  trustee;  but 
he  was  too  hopeful  to  be  stayed,  silenced  the  voice  of 
warning  in  his  bosom,  and  with  one  and  the  same  ges- 
ture committed  the  money  to  the  clerk,  and  himself 
into  the  hands  of  destiny. 

I  dwell,  even  at  the  risk  of  tedium,  on  John's  minutest 
errors,  his  case  being  so  perplexing  to  the  moralist;  but 
we  have  done  with  them  now,  the  roll  is  closed,  the 


THE  SECOND  SOWING 

reader  has  the  worst  of  our  poor  hero,  and  I  leave  him 
to  judge  for  himself  whether  he  or  John  has  been  the 
less  deserving.  Henceforth  we  have  to  follow  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  man  who  was  a  mere  whip-top  for  calamity; 
on  whose  unmerited  misadventures  not  even  the  humour- 
ist can  look  without  pity,  and  not  even  the  philosopher 
without  alarm. 

That  same  night  the  clerk  entered  upon  a  bout  of 
drunkenness  so  consistent  as  to  surprise  even  his  inti- 
mate acquaintance.  He  was  speedily  ejected  from  the 
boarding-house;  deposited  his  portmanteau  with  a  per- 
fect stranger,  who  did  not  even  catch  his  name;  wan- 
dered he  knew  not  where,  and  was  at  last  hove-to,  all 
standing,  in  a  hospital  at  Sacramento.  There,  under 
the  impenetrable  alias  of  the  number  of  his  bed,  the 
crapulous  being  lay  for  some  more  days  unconscious  of 
all  things,  and  of  one  thing  in  particular:  that  the  police 
were  after  him.  Two  months  had  come  and  gone  be- 
fore the  convalescent  in  the  Sacramento  hospital  was 
identified  with  Kirkman,  the  absconding  San  Francisco 
clerk;  even  then,  there  must  elapse  nearly  a  fortnight 
more  till  the  perfect  stranger  could  be  hunted  up,  the 
portmanteau  recovered,  and  John's  letter  carried  at 
length  to  its  destination,  the  seal  still  unbroken,  the  in- 
closure  still  intact. 

Meanwhile,  John  had  gone  upon  his  holidays  without 
a  word,  which  was  irregular;  and  there  had  disappeared 
with  him  a  certain  sum  of  money,  which  was  out  of  all 
bounds  of  palliation.  But  he  was  known  to  be  careless, 
and  believed  to  be  honest;  the  manager  besides  had  a 
regard  for  him ;  and  little  was  said,  although  something 
was  no  doubt  thought,  until  the  fortnight  was  finally  at 

343 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

an  end,  and  the  time  had  come  for  John  to  reappear. 
Then,  indeed,  the  affair  began  to  look  black;  and  when 
inquiries  were  made,  and  the  penniless  clerk  was  found 
to  have  amassed  thousands  of  dollars,  and  kept  them  se- 
cretly in  a  rival  establishment,  the  stoutest  of  his  friends 
abandoned  him,  the  books  were  overhauled  for  traces 
of  ancient  and  artful  fraud,  and  though  none  were  found, 
there  still  prevailed  a  general  impression  of  loss.  The 
telegraph  was  set  in  motion ;  and  the  correspondent  of 
the  bank  in  Edinburgh,  for  which  place  it  was  under- 
stood that  John  had  armed  himself  with  extensive  cred- 
its, was  warned  to  communicate  with  the  police. 

Now  this  correspondent  was  a  friend  of  Mr.  Nichol- 
son's; he  was  well  acquainted  with  the  tale  of  John's 
calamitous  disappearance  from  Edinburgh;  and  putting 
one  thing  with  another,  hasted  with  the  first  word  of 
this  scandal,  not  to  the  police,  but  to  his  friend.  The 
old  gentleman  had  long  regarded  his  son  as  one  dead; 
John's  place  had  been  taken,  the  memory  of  his  faults 
had  already  fallen  to  be  one  of  those  old  aches,  which 
awaken  again  indeed  upon  occasion,  but  which  we  can 
always  vanquish  by  an  effort  of  the  will ;  and  to  have 
the  long  lost  resuscitated  in  a  fresh  disgrace  was  doubly 
bitter. 

"  Macewen,"  said  the  old  man,  "  this  must  be  hushed 
up,  if  possible.  If  I  give  you  a  check  for  this  sum,  about 
which  they  are  certain,  could  you  take  it  on  yourself  to 
let  the  matter  rest  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  said  Macewen.     '*!  will  take  the  risk  of  it." 

'*  You  understand,"  resumed  Mr.  Nicholson,  speaking 
precisely,  but  with  ashen  lips,  '*  I  do  this  for  my  family, 
not  for  that  unhappy  young  man.     If  it  should  turn  out 

344 


THE  SECOND  SOWING 

that  these  suspicions  are  correct,  and  he  has  embezzled 
large  sums,  he  must  lie  on  his  bed  as  he  has  made  it." 
And  then  looking  up  at  Macewen  with  a  nod,  and  one 
of  his  strange  smiles:  *' Good-bye,"  said  he;  and  Mac- 
ewen, perceiving  the  case  to  be  too  grave  for  consola- 
tion, took  himself  off,  and  blessed  God  on  his  way  home 
that  he  was  childless. 


345 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  prodigal's  RETURN 

By  a  little  after  noon  on  the  eve  of  Christmas,  John 
had  left  his  portmanteau  in  the  cloak-room,  and  stepped 
forth  into  Prince's  Street  with  a  wonderful  expansion  of 
the  soul,  such  as  men  enjoy  on  the  completion  of  long- 
nourished  schemes.  He  was  at  home  again,  incognito 
and  rich ;  presently  he  could  enter  his  father's  house  by 
means  of  the  pass-key,  which  he  had  piously  preserved 
through  all  his  wanderings ;  he  would  throw  down  the 
borrowed  money ;  there  would  be  a  reconciliation,  the 
details  of  which  he  frequently  arranged ;  and  he  saw 
himself,  during  the  next  month,  made  welcome  in  many 
stately  houses  at  many  frigid  dinner-parties,  taking  his 
share  in  the  conversation  with  the  freedom  of  the  man 
and  the  traveller,  and  laying  down  the  law  upon  finance 
with  the  authority  of  the  successful  investor.  But  this 
programme  was  not  to  be  begun  before  evening  —  not 
till  just  before  dinner,  indeed,  at  which  meal  the  reassem- 
bled family  were  to  sit  roseate,  and  the  best  wine,  the 
modern  fatted  calf,  should  flow  for  the  prodigal's  return. 

Meanwhile  he  walked  familiar  streets,  merry  reminis- 
cences crowding  round  him,  sad  ones  also,  both  with 
the  same  surprising  pathos.  The  keen  frosty  air;  the 
low,  rosy,  wintery  sun ;  the  castle,  hailing  him  like  an 

346 


THE  PRODIGAL'S  RETURN 

old  acquaintance;  the  names  of  friends  on  door-plates; 
the  sight  of  friends  whom  he  seemed  to  recognise,  and 
whom  he  eagerly  avoided,  in  the  streets ;  the  pleasant 
chant  of  the  north  country  accent;  the  dome  of  St. 
George's  reminding  him  of  his  last  penitential  moments 
in  the  lane,  and  of  that  King  of  Glory  whose  name  had 
echoed  ever  since  in  the  saddest  corner  of  his  memory ; 
and  the  gutters  where  he  had  learned  to  slide,  and  the 
shop  where  he  had  bought  his  skates,  and  the  stones  on 
which  he  had  trod,  and  the  railings  in  which  he  had 
rattled  his  clachan  as  he  went  to  school;  and  all  those 
thousand  and  one  nameless  particulars,  which  the  eye 
sees  without  noting,  which  the  memory  keeps  indeed 
yet  without  knowing,  and  which,  taken  one  with  an- 
another,  build  up  for  us  the  aspect  of  the  place  that  we 
call  home:  all  these  besieged  him,  as  he  went,  with 
both  delight  and  sadness. 

His  first  visit  was  for  Houston,  who  had  a  house  on 
Regent's  Terrace,  kept  for  him  in  old  days  by  an  aunt. 
The  door  was  opened  (to  his  surprise)  upon  the  chain, 
and  a  voice  asked  him  from  within  what  he  wanted. 

"I  want  Mr.  Houston  —  Mr.  Alan  Houston,"  said  he. 

**  And  who  are  ye  ?  "  said  the  voice. 

"  This  is  most  extraordinary, "  thought  John ;  and  then 
aloud  he  told  his  name. 

"No  young  Mr.  John  ?"  cried  the  voice,  with  a  sud- 
den increase  of  Scotch  accent,  testifying  to  a  friendlier 
feeling. 

"The  very  same,"  said  John. 

And  the  old  butler  removed  his  defenses,  remarking 
only,  "I  thocht  ye  were  that  man."  But  his  master 
was  not  there ;  he  was  staying,  it  appeared,  at  the  house 

347 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

in  Murrayfield ;  and  though  the  butler  would  have  been 
glad  enough  to  have  taken  his  place  and  given  all  the 
news  of  the  family,  John,  struck  with  a  little  chill,  was 
eager  to  be  gone.  Only,  the  door  was  scarce  closed 
again,  before  he  regretted  that  he  had  not  asked  about 
**that  man." 

He  was  to  pay  no  more  visits  till  he  had  seen  his  fa- 
ther and  made  all  well  at  home;  Alan  had  been  the 
only  possible  exception,  and  John  had  not  time  to  go 
as  far  as  Murrayfield.  But  here  he  was  on  Regent's 
Terrace;  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  him  going  round 
the  end  of  the  hill,  and  looking  from  without  on  the 
Mackenzies'  house.  As  he  went,  he  reflected  that  Flora 
must  now  be  a  woman  of  near  his  own  age,  and  it  was 
within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  she  was  married; 
but  this  dishonourable  doubt  he  dammed  down. 

There  was  the  house,  sure  enough;  but  the  door  was 
of  another  colour,  and  what  was  this  —  two  door  plates  ? 
He  drew  nearer;  the  top  one  bore,  with  dignified  sim- 
plicity, the  words,  "  Mr.  Proudfoot; "  the  lower  one  was 
more  explicit,  and  informed  the  passer-by  that  here  was 
likewise  the  abode  of  "  Mr.  J.  A.  Dunlop  Proudfoot,  Ad- 
vocate." The  Proudfoots  must  be  rich,  for  no  advocate 
could  look  to  have  much  business  in  so  remote  a  quar- 
ter; and  John  hated  them  for  their  wealth  and  for  their 
name,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  house  they  desecrated 
with  their  presence.  He  remembered  a  Proudfoot  he 
had  seen  at  school,  not  known:  a  little,  whey-faced 
urchin,  the  despicable  member  of  some  lower  class. 
Could  it  be  this  abortion  that  had  climbed  to  be  an  ad- 
vocate, and  now  lived  in  the  birthplace  of  Flora  and  the 
home  of  John's  tenderest  memories  ?    The  chill  that  had 

348 


THE   PRODIGAL'S  RETURN 

first  seized  upon  him  when  he  heard  of  Houston's  ab- 
sence deepened  and  struck  inward.  For  a  moment,  as 
he  stood  under  the  doors  of  that  estranged  house,  and 
looked  east  and  west  along  the  solitary  pavement  of  tne 
Royal  Terrace,  where  not  a  cat  was  stirring,  the  sense 
of  solitude  and  desolation  took  him  by  the  throat,  and 
he  wished  himself  in  San  Francisco. 

And  then  the  figure  he  made,  with  his  decent  portli- 
ness, his  whiskers,  the  money  in  his  purse,  the  excel- 
lent cigar  that  he  now  lighted,  recurred  to  his  mind  in 
consolatory  comparison  with  that  of  a  certain  maddened 
lad  who,  on  a  certain  spring  Sunday  ten  years  before, 
and  in  the  hour  of  church-time  silence,  had  stolen  from 
that  city  by  the  Glasgow  road.  In  the  face  of  these 
changes,  it  were  impious  to  doubt  fortune's  kindness. 
All  would  be  well  yet;  the  Mackenzies  would  be  found, 
Flora,  younger  and  lovelier  and  kinder  than  before;  Alan 
would  be  found,  and  would  have  so  nicely  discriminated 
his  behaviour  as  to  have  grown,  on  the  one  hand,  into  a 
valued  friend  of  Mr.  Nicholson's,  and  to  have  remained, 
upon  the  other,  of  that  exact  shade  of  joviality  which 
John  desired  in  his  companions.  And  so,  once  more, 
John  fell  to  work  discounting  the  delightful  future:  his 
first  appearance  in  the  family  pew;  his  first  visit  to  his 
uncle  Greig,  who  thought  himself  so  great  a  financier, 
and  on  whose  purblind  Edinburgh  eyes  John  was  to  let 
in  the  dazzling  daylight  of  the  West;  and  the  details  in 
general  of  that  unrivalled  transformation  scene,  in  which 
he  was  to  display  to  all  Edinburgh  a  portly  and  success- 
ful gentleman  in  the  shoes  of  the  derided  fugitive. 

The  time  began  to  draw  near  when  his  father  would 
have  returned  from  the  office,  and  it  would  be  the  prodi- 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

gal's  cue  to  enter.  He  strolled  westward  by  Albany 
Street,  facing  the  sunset  embers,  pleased,  he  knew  not 
why,  to  move  in  that  cold  air  and  indigo  twilight, 
starred  with  street-lamps.  But  there  was  one  more 
disenchantment  waiting  him  by  the  way. 

At  the  corner  of  Pitt  Street  he  paused  to  light  a  fresh 
cigar;  the  vesta  threw,  as  he  did  so,  a  strong  light  upon 
his  features,  and  a  man  of  about  his  own  age  stopped 
at  sight  of  it. 

'*!  think  your  name  must  be  Nicholson,"  said  the 
stranger. 

It  was  too  late  to  avoid  recognition ;  and  besides,  as 
John  was  now  actually  on  the  way  home,  it  hardly 
mattered,  and  he  gave  way  to  the  impulse  of  his  na- 
ture. 

"Great  Scott!"  he  cried,  "Beatson!"  and  shook 
hands  with  warmth.  It  scarce  seemed  he  was  repaid 
in  kind. 

'* So  you're  home  again.?"  said  Beatson.  "Where 
have  you  been  all  this  long  time  ?  " 

"  In  the  States,"  said  John  — "  California.  I've  made 
my  pile  though ;  and  it  suddenly  struck  me  it  would  be 
a  noble  scheme  to  come  home  for  Christmas." 

"I  see,"  said  Beatson.  "Well,  I  hope  we'll  see 
something  of  you  now  you're  here." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  so,"  said  John,  a  little  frozen. 

"Well,  ta-ta,"  concluded  Beatson,  and  he  shook 
hands  again  and  went. 

This  was  a  cruel  first  experience.  It  was  idle  to  blink 
facts:  here  was  John  home  again,  and  Beatson  —  Old 
Beatson — did  not  care  a  rush.  He  recalled  Old  Beatson 
in  the  past — that  merry  and  affectionate  lad — and  their 

350 


THE  PRODIGAL'S   RETURN 

joint  adventures  and  mishaps,  the  window  they  had 
broken  with  a  catapult  in  India  Place,  the  escalade  of 
the  castle  rock,  and  many  another  inestimable  bond  of 
friendship;  and  his  hurt  surprise  grew  deeper.  Well, 
after  all,  it  was  only  on  a  man's  own  family  that  he 
could  count;  blood  was  thicker  than  water,  he  remem- 
bered ;  and  the  net  result  of  this  encounter  was  to  bring 
him  to  the  doorstep  of  his  father's  house,  with  tenderer 
and  softer  feelings. 

The  night  had  come ;  the  fanlight  over  the  door  shone 
bright;  the  two  windows  of  the  dining-room  where  the 
cloth  was  being  laid,  and  the  three  windows  of  the 
drawing-room  where  Maria  would  be  waiting  dinner, 
glowed  softlier  through  yellow  blinds.  It  was  like  a 
vision  of  the  past.  All  this  time  of  his  absence,  life  had 
gone  forward  with  an  equal  foot,  and  the  fires  and  the 
gas  had  been  lighted,  and  the  meals  spread,  at  the  ac- 
customed hours.  At  the  accustomed  hour,  too,  the 
bell  had  sounded  thrice  to  call  the  family  to  worship. 
And  at  the  thought,  a  pang  of  regret  for  his  demerit 
seized  him ;  he  remembered  the  things  that  were  good 
and  that  he  had  neglected,  and  the  things  that  were 
evil  and  that  he  had  loved;  and  it  was  with  a  prayer 
upon  his  lips  that  he  mounted  the  steps  and  thrust  the 
key  into  the  key-hole. 

He  stepped  into  the  lighted  hall,  shut  the  door  softly 
behind  him,  and  stood  there  fixed  in  wonder.  No  sur- 
prise of  strangeness  could  equal  the  surprise  of  that 
complete  familiarity.  There  was  the  bust  of  Chalmers 
near  the  stair-railings,  there  was  the  clothes-brush  in 
the  accustomed  place;  and  there,  on  the  hat-stand,  hung 
hats  and  coats  that  must  surely  be  the  same  as  he  re- 

35 » 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

membered.  Ten  years  dropped  from  his  life,  as  a  pin 
may  slip  between  the  fingers;  and  the  ocean  and  the 
mountains,  and  the  mines,  and  crowded  marts  and 
mingled  races  of  San  Francisco,  and  his  own  fortune 
and  his  own  disgrace,  became,  for  that  one  moment,  the 
figures  of  a  dream  that  was  over. 

He  took  off  his  hat,  and  moved  mechanically  toward 
the  stand ;  and  there  he  found  a  small  change  that  was 
a  great  one  to  him.  The  pin  that  had  been  his  from 
boyhood,  where  he  had  flung  his  balmoral  when  he 
loitered  home  from  the  academy,  and  his  first  hat  when 
he  came  briskly  back  from  college  or  the  office  —  his 
pin  was  occupied.  *  *  They  might  have  at  least  respected 
my  pin !  "  he  thought,  and  he  was  moved  as  by  a  slight, 
and  began  at  once  to  recollect  that  he  was  here  an  in- 
terloper, in  a  strange  house,  which  he  had  entered  almost 
by  a  burglary,  and  where  at  any  moment  he  might  be 
scandalously  challenged. 

He  moved  at  once,  his  hat  still  in  his  hand,  to  the 
door  of  his  father's  room,  opened  it,  and  entered.  Mr. 
Nicholson  sat  in  the  same  place  and  posture  as  on  that 
last  Sunday  morning;  only  he  was  older,  and  greyer, 
and  sterner;  and  as  he  now  glanced  up  and  caught  the 
eye  of  his  son,  a  strange  commotion  and  a  dark  flush 
sprung  into  his  face. 

'*  Father,"  said  John,  steadily,  and  even  cheerfully, 
for  this  was  a  moment  against  which  he  was  long  ago 
prepared,  "father,  here  I  am,  and  here  is  the  money 
that  I  took  from  you.  I  have  come  back  to  ask  your 
forgiveness,  and  to  stay  Christmas  with  you  and  the 
children." 

" Keep  your  money,"  said  the  father,  "and  gol " 
353 


THE  PRODIGAL'S   RETURN 

** Father!  "  cried  John ;  "for  God's  sake  don't  receive 
me  this  way.     I've  come  for " 

"  Understand  me,"  interrupted  Mr.  Nicholson;  "you 
are  no  son  of  mine;  and  in  the  sight  of  God,  I  wash  my 
hands  of  you.  One  last  thing  I  will  tell  you ;  one  warn- 
ing I  will  give  you;  all  is  discovered,  and  you  are  being 
hunted  for  your  crimes;  if  you  are  still  at  large  it  is 
thanks  to  me;  but  I  have  done  all  that  I  mean  to  do; 
and  from  this  time  forth  I  would  not  raise  one  finger  — 
not  one  finger  —  to  save  you  from  the  gallows  1  And 
now,"  with  a  low  voice  of  absolute  authority,  and  a 
single  weighty  gesture  of  the  finger,  '*  and  now  — -  go ! " 


m 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   HOUSE  AT  MURRAYFIELD 

How  John  passed  the  evening,  in  what  windy  con- 
fusion of  mind,  in  what  squalls  of  anger  and  lulls  of 
sick  collapse,  in  what  pacing  of  streets  and  plunging 
into  public-houses,  it  would  profit  little  to  relate.  His 
misery,  if  it  were  not  progressive,  yet  tended  in  no  way 
to  diminish ;  for  in  proportion  as  grief  and  indignation 
abated,  fear  began  to  take  their  place.  At  first,  his 
father's  menacing  words  lay  by  in  some  safe  drawer  of 
memory,  biding  their  hour.  At  first,  John  was  all 
thwarted  affection  and  blighted  hope;  next  bludgeoned 
vanity  raised  its  head  again,  with  twenty  mortal  gashes: 
and  the  father  was  disowned  even  as  he  had  disowned 
the  son.  What  was  this  regular  course  of  life,  that  John 
should  have  admired  it  ?  what  were  these  clock-work 
virtues,  from  which  love  was  absent  ?  Kindness  was 
the  test,  kindness  the  aim  and  soul;  and  judged  by  such 
a  standard,  the  discarded  prodigal — now  rapidly  drown- 
ing his  sorrows  and  his  reason  in  successive  drams  — 
was  a  creature  of  a  lovelier  morality  than  his  self-right- 
eous father.  Yes,  he  was  the  better  man;  he  felt  it, 
glowed  with  the  consciousness,  and  entering  a  public- 
house  at  the  corner  of  Howard  Place  (whither  he  had 
somehow  wandered)  he  pledged  his  own  virtues  in  a 

?54 


THE  HOUSE  AT  MURRAYFIELD 

glass  —  perhaps  the  fourth  since  his  dismissal.  Of  that 
he  knew  nothing,  keeping  no  account  of  what  he  did 
or  where  he  went;  and  in  the  general  crashing  hurry 
of  his  nerves,  unconscious  of  the  approach  of  intoxica- 
tion. Indeed,  it  is  a  question  whether  he  were  really 
growing  intoxicated,  or  whether  at  first  the  spirits  did 
not  even  sober  him.  For  it  was  even  as  he  drained 
this  last  glass  that  his  father's  ambiguous  and  menacing 
words  —  popping  from  their  hiding-place  in  memory 
—  startled  him  like  a  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder. 
** Crimes,  hunted,  the  gallows."  They  were  ugly 
words ;  in  the  ears  of  an  innocent  man,  perhaps  all  the 
uglier;  for  if  some  judicial  error  were  in  act  against 
him,  who  should  set  a  limit  to  its  grossness  or  to  how 
far  it  might  be  pushed  ?  Not  John,  indeed;  he  was  no 
believer  in  the  powers  of  innocence,  his  cursed  experi- 
ence pointing  in  quite  other  ways ;  and  his  fears,  once 
wakened,  grew  with  every  hour  and  hunted  him  about 
the  city  streets. 

It  was,  perhaps,  nearly  nine  at  night;  he  had  eaten 
nothing  since  lunch,  he  had  drunk  a  good  deal,  and  he 
was  exhausted  by  emotion,  when  the  thought  of  Hous- 
ton came  into  his  head.  He  turned,  not  merely  to  the 
man  as  a  friend,  but  to  his  house  as  a  place  of  refuge. 
The  danger  that  threatened  him  was  still  so  vague  that 
he  knew  neither  what  to  fear  nor  where  he  might  ex- 
pect it;  but  this  much  at  least  seemed  undeniable,  that 
a  private  house  was  safer  than  a  public  inn.  Moved  by 
these  counsels,  he  turned  at  once  to  the  Caledonian 
Station,  passed  (not  without  alarm)  into  the  bright  lights 
of  the  approach,  redeemed  his  portmanteau  from  the 
cloak-room,  and  was  soon  whirling  in  a  cab  along  the 

355 


THE  MISADVENTURES   OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

Glasgow  road.  The  change  of  movement  and  position, 
the  sight  of  the  lamps  twinkling  to  the  rear,  and  the 
smell  of  damp  and  mould  and  rotten  straw  which  clung 
about  the  vehicle,  wrought  in  him  strange  alternations 
of  lucidity  and  mortal  giddiness. 

"I  have  been  drinking,"  he  discovered;  "I  must  go 
straight  to  bed,  and  sleep."  And  he  thanked  Heaven 
for  the  drowsiness  that  came  upon  his  mind  in  waves. 

From  one  of  these  spells  he  was  wakened  by  the  stop- 
page of  the  cab ;  and,  getting  down,  found  himself  in 
quite  a  country  road,  the  last  lamp  of  the  suburb  shining 
some  way  below,  and  the  high  walls  of  a  garden  rising 
before  him  in  the  dark.  The  Lodge  (as  the  place  was 
named),  stood,  indeed,  very  solitary.  To  the  south  it 
adjoined  another  house,  but  standing  in  so  large  a  gar- 
den as  to  be  well  out  of  cry;  on  all  other  sides,  open 
fields  stretched  upward  to  the  woods  of  Corstorphine 
Hill,  or  backward  to  the  dells  of  Ravelston,  or  down- 
ward toward  the  valley  of  the  Leith.  The  effect  of  se- 
clusion was  aided  by  the  great  height  of  the  garden 
walls,  which  were,  indeed,  conventual,  and,  as  John 
had  tested  in  former  days,  defied  the  climbing  school- 
boy. The  lamp  of  the  cab  threw  a  gleam  upon  the 
door  and  the  not  brilliant  handle  of  the  bell. 

**  Shall  I  ring  for  ye  ?"  said  the  cabman,  who  had  de- 
scended from  his  perch  and  was  slapping  his  chest,  for 
the  night  was  bitter. 

'*I  wish  you  would,"  said  John,  putting  his  hand  to 
his  brow  in  one  of  his  accesses  of  giddiness. 

The  man  pulled  at  the  handle,  and  the  clanking  of 
the  bell  replied  from  further  in  the  garden ;  twice  and 
thrice  he  did  it,  with  sufficient  intervals;  in  the  greats 

356 


THE   HOUSE  AT  MURRAYFIELD 

frosty  silence  of  the  night,  the  sounds  fell  sharp  and 
small. 

''Does  he  expect  ye?"  asked  the  driver,  with  that 
manner  of  familiar  interest  that  well  became  his  port- 
wine  face;  and  when  John  had  told  him  no,  "Well, 
then,"  said  the  cabman,  "if  ye'll  tak'  my  advice  of  it, 
we'll  just  gang  back.  And  that's  disinterested,  mind 
ye,  for  my  stables  are  in  the  Glesgie  road." 

"The  servants  must  hear,"  said  John. 

"Hout!"  said  the  driver.  "He  keeps  no  servants 
here,  man.  They're  a'  in  the  town  house;  I  drive  him 
often;  it's  just  a  kind  of  a  hermitage,  this." 

"Give  me  the  bell,"  said  John;  and  he  plucked  at  it 
like  a  man  desperate. 

The  clamour  had  not  yet  subsided  before  they  heard 
steps  upon  the  gravel,  and  a  voice  of  singular  nervous 
irritability  cried  to  them  through  the  door,  "Who  are 
you,  and  what  do  you  want?" 

"Alan,"  said  John,  "  it's  me — it's  Fatty — John,  you 
know.  I'm  just  come  home,  and  I've  come  to  stay  with 
you." 

There  was  no  reply  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  door 
was  opened. 

"Get  the  portmanteau  down,"  said  John  to  the 
driver. 

"Do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Alan;  and  then  to 
John,  "Come  in  here  a  moment.  I  want  to  speak  to 
you." 

John  entered  the  garden,  and  the  door  was  closed 
behind  him.  A  candle  stood  on  the  gravel  walk,  wink- 
ing a  little  in  the  draughts ;  it  threw  inconstant  sparkles 
on  the  clumped  holly,  struck  the  light  and  darkness  to 

357 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

and  fro  like  a  veil  on  Alan's  features,  and  sent  his  shadow 
hovering  behind  him.  All  beyond  was  inscrutable;  and 
John's  dizzy  brain  rocked  with  the  shadow.  Yet  even 
so,  it  struck  him  that  Alan  was  pale,  and  his  voice,  when 
he  spoke,  unnatural. 

''What  brings  you  here  to-night?"  he  began.  "I 
don't  want,  God  knows,  to  seem  unfriendly ;  but  I  can- 
not take  you  in,  Nicholson;  I  cannot  do  it." 

' *  Alan, "  said  John,  ' '  you've  just  got  to !  You  don't 
know  the  mess  I'm  in;  the  governor's  turned  me  out, 
and  I  daren't  show  my  face  in  an  inn,  because  they're 
down  on  me  for  murder  or  something! " 

"For  what  ?"  cried  Alan,  starting. 

"Murder,  I  believe,"  says  John. 

"Murder!"  repeated  Alan,  and  passed  his  hand  over 
his  eyes.  ' '  What  was  that  you  were  saying  ?  "  he  asked 
again. 

"That  they  were  down  on  me,"  said  John.  "I'm 
accused  of  murder,  by  what  I  can  make  out;  and  I've 
really  had  a  dreadful  day  of  it,  Alan,  and  I  can't  sleep 
on  the  road-side  on  a  night  like  this  —  at  least,  not  with 
a  portmanteau,"  he  pleaded. 

"  Hush!  "  said  Alan,  with  his  head  on  one  side;  and 
then,  "Did  you  hear  nothing.^"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  John,  thrilling,  he  knew  not  why,  with 
communicated  terror.  "No,  I  heard  nothing;  why?" 
And  then,  as  there  was  no  answer,  he  reverted  to  his 
pleading:  "  But  I  say,  Alan,  you've  just  got  to  take  me 
in.  I'll  go  right  away  to  bed  if  you  have  anything  to 
do.  I  seem  to  have  been  drinking;  I  was  that  knocked 
over.  I  wouldn't  turn  you  away,  Alan,  if  you  were 
down  on  your  luck." 

358 


THE   HOUSE   AT   MURRAYFIELD 

"No?"  returned  Alan.  "Neither  will  I  you,  then. 
Come  and  let's  get  your  portmanteau." 

The  cabman  was  paid,  and  drove  off  down  the  long, 
lamp-lighted  hill,  and  the  two  friends  stood  on  the  side- 
walk beside  the  portmanteau  till  the  last  rumble  of  the 
wheels  had  died  in  silence.  It  seemed  to  John  as  though 
Alan  attached  importance  to  this  departure  of  the  cab; 
and  John,  who  was  in  no  state  to  criticise,  shared  pro- 
foundly in  the  feeling. 

When  the  stillness  was  once  more  perfect,  Alan 
shouldered  the  portmanteau^  carried  it  in,  and  shut  and 
locked  the  garden  door;  and  then,  once  more,  abstrac- 
tion seemed  to  fall  upon  him,  and  he  stood  with  his 
hand  on  the  key,  until  the  cold  began  to  nibble  at  John's 
fingers. 

"Why  are  we  standing  here?"  asked  John. 

"Eh?"  said  Alan,  blankly. 

"Why,  man,  you  don't  seem  yourself,"  said  the 
other. 

"No,  I'm  not  myself,"  said  Alan;  and  he  sat  down 
on  the  portmanteau  and  put  his  face  in  his  hands. 

John  stood  beside  him  swaying  a  little,  and  looking 
about  him  at  the  swaying  shadows,  the  flitting  sparkles, 
and  the  steady  stars  overhead,  until  the  windless  cold 
began  to  touch  him  through  his  clothes  on  the  bare 
skin.  Even  in  his  bemused  intelligence,  wonder  began 
to  awake. 

"  I  say,  let's  come  on  to  the  house,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Yes,  let's  come  on  to  the  house,"  repeated  Alan. 

And  he  rose  at  once,  reshouldered  the  portmanteau, 
and  taking  the  candle  in  his  other  hand,  moved  forward 
to  the  Lodge.     This  was  a  long,  low  building,  smoth- 

359 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

ered  in  creepers ;  and  now,  except  for  some  chinks  of 
light  between  the  dining-room  shutters,  it  was  plunged 
in  darkness  and  silence. 

In  the  hall  Alan  lighted  another  candle,  gave  it  to 
John,  and  opened  the  door  of  a  bedroom. 

'  *  Here, "  said  he ;  '  *  go  to  bed.  Don't  mind  me,  John. 
You'll  be  sorry  for  me  when  you  know." 

'*  Wait  a  bit,"  returned  John;  "  I've  got  so  cold  with 
all  that  standing  about.  Let's  go  into  the  dining-room 
a  minute.    Just  one  glass  to  warm  me,  Alan." 

On  the  table  in  the  hall  stood  a  glass,  and  a  bottle 
with  a  whisky  label  on  a  tray.  It  was  plain  the  bottle 
had  been  just  opened,  for  the  cork  and  corkscrew  lay 
beside  it. 

*'Take  that,"  said  Alan,  passing  John  the  whisky, 
and  then  with  a  certain  roughness  pushed  his  friend 
into  the  bedroom,  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

John  stood  amazed;  then  he  shook  the  bottle,  and, 
to  his  further  wonder,  found  it  partly  empty.  Three  or 
four  glasses  were  gone.  Alan  must  have  uncorked  a 
bottle  of  whisky  and  drank  three  or  four  glasses  one 
after  the  other,  without  sitting  down,  for  there  was  no 
chair,  and  that  in  his  own  cold  lobby  on  this  freezing 
night!  It  fully  explained  his  eccentricities,  John  reflect- 
ed sagely,  as  he  mixed  himself  a  grog.  Poor  Alan ! 
He  was  drunk;  and  what  a  dreadful  thing  was  drink, 
and  what  a  slave  to  it  poor  Alan  was,  to  drink  in  this 
unsociable,  uncomfortable  fashion!  The  man  who 
would  drink  alone,  except  for  health's  sake  —  as  John 
was  now  doing  —  was  a  man  utterly  lost.  He  took  the 
grog  out,  and  felt  hazier,  but  warmer.  It  was  hard 
work  opening  the  portmanteau  and  finding  his  night 

>6o 


THE   HOUSE   AT   MURRAYFIELD 

things ;  and  before  he  was  undressed,  the  cold  had  struck 
home  to  him  once  more.  '*Well,"  said  he;  "just  a 
drop  more.  There's  no  sense  in  getting  ill  with  all  this 
other  trouble. "  And  presently  dreamless  slumber  buried 
him. 

When  John  awoke  it  was  day.  The  low  winter  sun 
was  already  in  the  heavens,  but  his  watch  had  stopped, 
and  it  was  impossible  to  tell  the  hour  exactly.  Ten,  he 
guessed  it,  and  made  haste  to  dress,  dismal  reflections 
crowding  on  his  mind.  But  it  was  less  from  terror 
than  from  regret  that  he  now  suffered;  and  with  his 
regret  there  were  mingled  cutting  pangs  of  penitence. 
There  had  fallen  upon  him  a  blow,  cruel,  indeed,  but 
yet  only  the  punishment  of  old  misdoing;  and  he  had 
rebelled  and  plunged  into  fresh  sin.  The  rod  had 
been  used  to  chasten,  and  he  had  bit  the  chastening  fin- 
gers. His  father  was  right;  John  had  justified  him; 
John  was  no  guest  for  decent  people's  houses,  and  no 
fit  associate  for  decent  people's  children.  And  had  a 
broader  hint  been  needed,  there  was  the  case  of  his  old 
friend.  John  was  no  drunkard,  though  he  could  at 
times  exceed ;  and  the  picture  of  Houston  drinking  neat 
spirits  at  his  hall-table  struck  him  with  something  like 
disgust.  He  hung  back  from  meeting  his  old  friend. 
He  could  have  wished  he  had  not  come  to  him;  and  yet, 
even  now,  where  else  was  he  to  turn  ? 

These  musings  occupied  him  while  he  dressed,  and 
accompanied  him  into  the  lobby  of  the  house.  The 
door  stood  open  on  the  garden;  doubtless,  Alan  had 
stepped  forth;  and  John  did  as  he  supposed  his  friend 
had  done.  The  ground  was  hard  as  iron,  the  frost  still 
rigorous;  as  he  brushed  among  the  hollies,  icicles  jin- 

361 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

gled  and  glittered  in  their  fall;  and  wherever  he  went,  a 
volley  of  eager  sparrows  followed  him.  Here  were 
Christmas  weather  and  Christmas  morning  duly  met,  to 
the  delight  of  children.  This  was  the  day  of  reunited 
families,  the  day  to  which  he  had  so  long  looked  for- 
ward, thinking  to  awake  in  his  own  bed  in  Randolph 
Crescent,  reconciled  with  all  men  and  repeating  the 
foot-prints  of  his  youth ;  and  here  he  was  alone,  pacing 
the  alleys  of  a  wintery  garden  and  filled  with  penitential 
thoughts. 

And  that  reminded  him:  why  was  he  alone?  and 
where  was  Alan  ?  The  thought  of  the  festal  morning 
and  the  due  salutations  reawakened  his  desire  for  his 
friend,  and  he  began  to  call  for  him  by  name.  As  the 
sound  of  his  voice  died  away,  he  was  aware  of  the 
greatness  of  the  silence  that  environed  him.  But  for 
the  twittering  of  the  sparrows  and  the  crunching  of  his 
own  feet  upon  the  frozen  snow,  the  whole  windless 
world  of  air  hung  over  him  entranced,  and  the  stillness 
weighed  upon  his  mind  with  a  horror  of  solitude. 

Still  calling  at  intervals,  but  now  with  a  moderated 
voice,  he  made  the  hasty  circuit  of  the  garden,  and  find- 
ing neither  man  nor  trace  of  man  in  all  its  evergreen 
coverts,  turned  at  last  to  the  house.  About  the  house 
the  silence  seemed  to  deepen  strangely.  The  door,  in- 
deed, stood  open  as  before;  but  the  windows  were  still 
shuttered,  the  chimneys  breathed  no  stain  into  the  bright 
air,  there  sounded  abroad  none  of  that  low  stir  (per- 
haps audible  rather  to  the  ear  of  the  spirit  than  to  the 
ear  of  the  flesh)  by  which  a  house  announces  and  be- 
trays its  human  lodgers.  And  yet  Alan  must  be  there 
—  Alan  locked  in  drunken  slumbers,  forgetful  of  the  re 

3(>^ 


THE  HOUSE   AT  MURRAYFIELD 

turn  of  day,  of  the  holy  season,  and  of  the  friend  whom 
he  had  so  coldly  received  and  was  now  so  churlishly 
neglecting.  John's  disgust  redoubled  at  the  thought; 
but  hunger  was  beginning  to  grow  stronger  than  re- 
pulsion, and  as  a  step  to  breakfast,  if  nothing  else,  he 
must  find  and  arouse  this  sleeper. 

He  made  the  circuit  of  the  bedroom  quarters.  All, 
until  he  came  to  Alan's  chamber,  were  locked  from 
without,  and  bore  the  marks  of  a  prolonged  disuse. 
But  Alan's  was  a  room  in  commission,  filled  with  clothes, 
knickknacks,  letters,  books,  and  the  conveniences  of  a 
solitary  man.  The  fire  had  been  lighted;  but  it  had 
long  ago  burned  out,  and  the  ashes  were  stone  cold. 
The  bed  had  been  made,  but  it  had  not  been  slept  in. 

Worse  and  worse,  then ;  Alan  must  have  fallen  where 
he  sat,  and  now  sprawled  brutishly,  no  doubt,  upon  the 
dining-room  floor. 

The  dining-room  was  a  very  long  apartment,  and  was 
reached  through  a  passage;  so  that  John,  upon  his  en- 
trance, brought  but  little  light  with  him,  and  must  move 
toward  the  windows  with  spread  arms,  groping  and 
knocking  on  the  furniture.  Suddenly  he  tripped  and 
fell  his  length  over  a  prostrate  body.  It  was  what  he 
had  looked  for,  yet  it  shocked  him;  and  he  marveled 
that  so  rough  an  impact  should  not  have  kicked  a  groan 
out  of  the  drunkard.  Men  had  killed  themselves  ere 
now  in  such  excesses,  a  dreary  and  degraded  end  that 
made  John  shudder.  What  if  Alan  were  dead  ?  There 
would  be  a  Christmas-day! 

By  this,  John  had  his  hand  upon  the  shutters,  and 
flinging  them  back,  beheld  once  again  the  blessed  face 
of  the  day.     Even  by  that  light  the  room  had  a  discom- 

363 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

fortable  air.  The  chairs  were  scattered,  and  one  had 
been  overthrown;  the  table-cloth,  laid  as  if  for  dinner, 
was  twitched  upon  one  side,  and  some  of  the  dishes 
had  fallen  to  the  floor.  Behind  the  table  lay  the  drunk- 
ard, still  unaroused,  only  one  foot  visible  to  John. 

But  now  that  light  was  in  the  room,  the  worst  seemed 
over;  it  was  a  disgusting  business,  but  not  more  than 
disgusting;  and  it  was  with  no  great  apprehension  that 
John  proceeded  to  make  the  circuit  of  the  table :  his  last 
comparatively  tranquil  moment  for  that  day.  No  sooner 
had  he  turned  the  corner,  no  sooner  had  his  eyes  alighted 
on  the  body,  than  he  gave  a  smothered,  breathless  cry, 
and  fled  out  of  the  room  and  out  of  the  house. 

It  was  not  Alan  who  lay  there,  but  a  man  well  up  in 
years,  of  stern  countenance  and  iron-gray  locks ;  and  it 
was  no  drunkard,  for  the  body  lay  in  a  black  pool  of 
blood,  and  the  open  eyes  stared  upon  the  ceiling. 

To  and  fro  walked  John  before  the  door.  The  ex- 
treme sharpness  of  the  air  acted  on  his  nerves  like  an 
astringent,  and  braced  them  swiftly.  Presently,  he  not 
relaxing  in  his  disordered  walk,  the  images  began  to 
come  clearer  and  stay  longer  in  his  fancy ;  and  next  the 
power  of  thought  came  back  to  him,  and  the  horror  and 
danger  of  his  situation  rooted  him  to  the  ground. 

He  grasped  his  forehead,  and  staring  on  one  spot  of 
gravel,  pieced  together  what  he  knew  and  what  he  sus 
oected.  Alan  had  murdered  some  one:  possibly  '*  that 
man  **  against  whom  the  butler  chained  the  door  in 
Regent's  Terrace;  possibly  another;  some  one  at  least: 
a  human  soul,  whom  it  was  death  to  slay  and  whose 
blood  lay  spilled  upon  the  floor.  This  was  the  reason 
of  the  whisky  drinking  in  the  passage,  of  his  unwilling- 

364 


THE   HOUSE   AT   MURRAYFIELD 

ness  to  welcome  John,  of  his  strange  behaviour  and  be- 
wildered words;  this  was  why  he  had  started  at  and 
harped  upon  the  name  of  murder;  this  was  why  he  had 
stood  and  hearkened,  or  sat  and  covered  his  eyes,  in 
the  black  night.  And  now  he  was  gone,  now  he  had 
basely  fled ;  and  to  all  his  perplexities  and  dangers  John 
stood  heir. 

'*  Let  me  think  —  let  me  think,"  he  said,  aloud,  im- 
patiently, even  pleadingly,  as  if  to  some  merciless  inter- 
rupter. In  the  turmoil  of  his  wits,  a  thousand  hints  and 
hopes  and  threats  and  terrors  dinning  continuously  in 
his  ears,  he  was  like  one  plunged  in  the  hubbub  of  a 
crowd.  How  was  he  to  remember  —  he,  who  had  not 
a  thought  to  spare  —  that  he  was  himself  the  author,  as 
well  as  the  theater,  of  so  much  confusion  ?  But  in  hours 
of  trial  the  junto  of  man's  nature  is  dissolved,  and  an- 
archy succeeds. 

It  was  plain  he  must  stay  no  longer  where  he  was, 
for  here  was  a  new  Judicial  Error  in  the  very  making. 
It  was  not  so  plain  where  he  must  go,  for  the  old  Judi- 
cial Error,  vague  as  a  cloud,  appeared  to  fill  the  habitable 
world;  whatever  it  might  be,  it  watched  for  him,  full- 
grown,  in  Edinburgh;  it  must  have  had  its  birth  in  San 
Francisco ;  it  stood  guard  no  doubt,  like  a  dragon,  at  the 
bank  where  he  should  cash  his  credit;  and  though  there 
were  doubtless  many  other  places,  who  should  say  in 
which  of  them  it  was  not  ambushed  ?  No,  he  could 
not  tell  where  he  was  to  go;  he  must  not  lose  time  on 
these  insolubilities.  Let  him  go  back  to  the  beginning. 
It  was  plain  he  must  stay  no  longer  where  he  was.  It 
was  plain,  too,  that  he  must  not  flee  as  he  was,  for  he 
could  not  carry  his  portmanteau,  and  to  flee  and  leave 

365 


THE  MISADVENTURES   OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

it,  was  to  plunge  deeper  in  the  mire.  He  must  go, 
leave  the  house  unguarded,  find  a  cab,  and  return  — 
return  after  an  absence  ?    Had  he  courage  for  that  ? 

And  just  then  he  spied  a  stain  about  a  hand's  breadth 
on  his  trouser-leg,  and  reached  his  finger  down  to  touch 
it.  The  finger  was  stained  red ;  it  was  blood ;  he  stared 
upon  it  with  disgust,  and  awe,  and  terror,  and  in  the 
sharpness  of  the  new  sensation,  fell  instantly  to  act. 

He  cleansed  his  finger  in  the  snow,  returned  into  the 
house,  drew  near  with  hushed  footsteps  to  the  dining- 
room  door,  and  shut  and  locked  it.  Then  he  breathed 
a  little  freer,  for  here  at  least  was  an  oaken  barrier  be- 
tween himself  and  what  he  feared.  Next,  he  hastened  to 
his  room,  tore  off  the  spotted  trousers  which  seemed  in 
his  eyes  a  link  to  bind  him  to  the  gallows,  flung  them 
in  a  corner,  donned  another  pair,  breathlessly  crammed 
his  night  things  into  his  portmanteau,  locked  it,  swung 
it  with  an  effort  from  the  ground,  and  with  a  rush  of 
relief,  came  forth  again  under  the  open  heavens. 

The  portmanteau,  being  of  occidental  build,  was  no 
feather-weight;  it  had  distressed  the  powerful  Alan ;  and 
as  for  John,  he  was  crushed  under  its  bulk,  and  the 
sweat  broke  upon  him  thickly.  Twice  he  must  set  it 
down  to  rest  before  he  reached  the  gate;  and  when  he 
had  come  so  far,  he  must  do  as  Alan  did,  and  take  his 
seat  upon  one  corner.  Here,  then,  he  sat  awhile  and 
panted ;  but  now  his  thoughts  were  sensibly  lightened ; 
now,  with  the  trunk  standing  just  inside  the  door,  some 
part  of  his  dissociation  from  the  house  of  crime  had 
been  effected,  and  the  cabman  need  not  pass  the  garden 
wall.  It  was  wonderful  how  that  relieved  him ;  for  the 
house,  in  his  eyes,  was  a  place  to  strike  the  most  cur- 

^66 


THE   HOUSE   AT  MURRAYFIELD 

sory  beholder  with  suspicion,  as  though  the  very  win- 
dows had  cried  murder. 

But  there  was  to  be  no  remission  of  the  strokes  of 
fate.  As  he  thus  sat,  taking  breath  in  the  shadow  of 
the  wall  and  hopped  about  by  sparrows,  it  chanced  that 
his  eye  roved  to  the  fastening  of  the  door;  and  what  he 
saw  plucked  him  to  his  feet.  The  thing  locked  with  a 
spring;  once  the  door  was  closed,  the  bolt  shut  of  it- 
self; and  without  a  key,  there  was  no  means  of  entering 
from  without. 

He  saw  himself  obliged  to  one  of  two  distasteful  and 
perilous  alternatives;  either  to  shut  the  door  altogether 
and  set  his  portmanteau  out  upon  the  way-side,  a  won- 
der to  all  beholders;  or  to  leave  the  door  ajar,  so  that 
any  thievish  tramp  or  holiday  school-boy  might  stray  in 
and  stumble  on  the  grisly  secret.  To  the  last,  as  the 
least  desperate,  his  mind  inclined ;  but  he  must  first  in- 
sure himself  that  he  was  unobserved.  He  peered  out, 
and  down  the  long  road :  it  lay  dead  empty.  He  went 
to  the  corner  of  the  by-road  that  comes  by  way  of  Dean ; 
there  also  not  a  passenger  was  stirring.  Plainly  it  was, 
now  or  never,  the  high  tide  of  his  affairs;  and  he  drew 
the  door  as  close  as  he  durst,  slipped  a  pebble  in  the 
chink,  and  made  off  downhill  to  find  a  cab. 

Half-way  down  a  gate  opened,  and  a  troop  of  Christ- 
mas children  sallied  forth  in  the  most  cheerful  humour, 
followed  more  soberly  by  a  smiling  mother. 

**And  this  is  Christmas-day!"  thought  John;  and 
could  have  laughed  aloud  in  tragic  bitterness  of  heart. 


yn 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  TRAGI-COMEDY   IN   A  CAB 

In  front  of  Donaldson's  Hospital,  John  counted  it  good 
fortune  to  perceive  a  cab  a  great  way  off,  and  by  much 
shouting  and  waving  of  his  arm  to  catch  the  notice  of 
the  driver.  He  counted  it  good  fortune,  for  the  time 
was  long  to  him  till  he  should  have  done  forever  with 
the  Lodge;  and  the  further  he  must  go  to  find  a  cab, 
the  greater  the  chance  that  the  inevitable  discovery  had 
taken  place,  and  that  he  should  return  to  find  the  gar- 
den full  of  angry  neighbours.  Yet  when  the  vehicle 
drew  up  he  was  sensibly  chagrined  to  recognise  the 
port-wine  cabman  of  the  night  before.  "Here,"  he 
could  not  but  reflect,  **  here  is  another  link  in  the  Judi- 
cial Error." 

The  driver,  on  the  other  hand,  was  pleased  to  drop 
again  upon  so  liberal  a  fare;  and  as  he  was  a  man  —  the 
reader  must  already  have  perceived  —  of  easy,  not  to 
say  familiar,  manners,  he  dropped  at  once  into  a  vein 
of  friendly  talk,  commenting  on  the  weather,  on  the 
sacred  season,  which  struck  him  chiefly  in  the  light  of 
a  day  of  liberal  gratuities,  on  the  chance  which  had 
reunited  him  to  a  pleasing  customer,  and  on  the  fact 
that  John  had  been  (as  he  was  pleased  to  call  it)  visibly 
"  on  the  randan  "  the  night  before. 

368 


A  TRAGI-COMEDY   IN   A   CAB 

"And  ye  look  dreidful  bad  the-day,  sir,  I  must  say 
that,*'  he  continued.  "There's  nothing  like  a  dram  for 
ye — if  ye'll  take  my  advice  of  it ;  and  bein'  as  it's  Christ- 
mas, I'm  no  saying,"  he  added,  with  a  fatherly  smile, 
"  but  what  I  would  join  ye  mysel'." 

John  had  listened  with  a  sick  heart. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  dram  when  we've  got  through,"  said 
he,  affecting  a  sprightliness  which  sat  on  him  most  un- 
handsomely, "and  not  a  drop  till  then.  Business  first, 
and  pleasure  afterward." 

With  this  promise  the  jarvey  was  prevailed  upon  to 
clamber  to  his  place  and  drive,  with  hideous  delibera- 
tion, to  the  door  of  the  Lodge.  There  were  no  signs 
as  yet  of  any  public  emotion ;  only,  two  men  stood  not 
far  off  in  talk,  and  their  presence,  seen  from  afar,  set 
John's  pulses  buzzing.  He  might  have  spared  himself 
his  fright,  for  the  pair  were  lost  in  some  dispute  of  a 
theological  complexion,  and  with  lengthened  upper  lip 
and  enumerating  fingers,  pursued  the  matter  of  their 
difference,  and  paid  no  heed  to  John. 

But  the  cabman  proved  a  thorn  in  the  flesh.  Nothing 
would  keep  him  on  his  perch ;  he  must  clamber  down, 
comment  upon  the  pebble  in  the  door  (which  he  re- 
garded as  an  ingenious  but  unsafe  device),  help  John 
with  the  portmanteau,  and  enliven  matters  with  a  flow 
of  speech,  and  especially  of  questions,  which  I  thus 
condense: 

"He'll  no  be  here  himsel',  will  he?  No?  Well, 
he's  an  eccentric  man  —  a  fair  oddity  —  if  ye  ken  the  ex- 
pression. Great  trouble  with  his  tenants,  they  tell  me. 
I've  driven  the  fam'ly  for  years.  I  drove  a  cab  at  his  fa- 
ther's waddin'.     What'll  your  name  be  ? —  I  should  ken 

369 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

your  face.  Baigrey,  ye  say  ?  There  were  Baigreys 
about  Gilmerton;  ye'll  be  one  of  that  lot?  Then  this'U 
be  a  friend's  portmantie,  like  ?  Why  ?  Because  the 
name  upon  it's  Nucholson!  Oh,  if  ye're  in  a  hurry, 
that's  another  job.   Waverley  Brig'  ?  Are  ye  for  away  ?  " 

So  the  friendly  toper  prated  and  questioned  and  kept 
John's  heart  in  a  flutter.  But  to  this  also,  as  to  other 
evils  under  the  sun,  there  came  a  period;  and  the  vic- 
tim of  circumstances  began  at  last  to  rumble  toward  the 
railway  terminus  at  Waverley  Bridge.  During  the  tran- 
sit, he  sat  with  raised  glasses  in  the  frosty  chill  and 
mouldy  fetor  of  his  chariot,  and  glanced  out  sidelong  on 
the  holiday  face  of  things,  the  shuttered  shops,  and  the 
crowds  along  the  pavement,  much  as  the  rider  in  the 
Tyburn  cart  may  have  observed  the  concourse  gather- 
ing to  his  execution. 

At  the  station  his  spirits  rose  again ;  another  stage  of 
his  escape  was  fortunately  ended  —  he  began  to  spy 
blue  water.  He  called  a  railway  porter,  and  bade  him 
carry  the  portmanteau  to  the  cloak-room :  not  that  he 
had  any  notion  of  delay;  flight,  instant  flight  was  his 
design,  no  matter  whither;  but  he  had  determined  to 
dismiss  the  cabman  ere  he  named,  or  even  chose,  his 
destination,  thus  possibly  balking  the  Judicial  Error  of 
another  link.  This  was  his  cunning  aim,  and  now  with 
one  foot  on  the  road-way,  and  one  still  on  the  coach- 
step,  he  made  haste  to  put  the  thing  in  practice,  and 
plunged  his  hand  into  his  trousers  pocket. 

There  was  nothing  there! 

Oh,  yes;  this  time  he  was  to  blame.  He  should  have 
remembered,  and  when  he  deserted  his  blood-stained 
pantaloons,  he  should  not  have  deserted  along  with 

370 


A  TRAGI-COMEDY   IN    A   CAB 

them  his  purse.  Make  the  most  of  his  error,  and  then 
compare  it  with  the  punishment!  Conceive  his  new 
position,  for  I  lack  words  to  picture  it;  conceive  him 
condemned  to  return  to  that  house,  from  the  very 
thought  of  which  his  soul  revolted,  and  once  more  to 
expose  himself  to  capture  on  the  very  scene  of  the  mis- 
deed :  conceive  him  linked  to  the  mouldy  cab  and  the 
familiar  cabman.  John  cursed  the  cabman  silently,  and 
then  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  must  stop  the  incarcera- 
tion of  his  portmanteau;  that,  at  least,  he  must  keep 
close  at  hand,  and  he  turned  to  recall  the  porter.  But 
his  reflections,  brief  as  they  had  appeared,  must  have 
occupied  him  longer  than  he  supposed,  and  there  was 
the  man  already  returning  with  the  receipt. 

Well,  that  was  settled ;  he  had  lost  his  portmanteau 
also;  for  the  sixpence  with  which  he  had  paid  the  Mur- 
rayfield  Toll  was  one  that  had  strayed  alone  into  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  and  unless  he  once  more  successfully 
achieved  the  adventure  of  the  house  of  crime,  his  port- 
manteau lay  in  the  cloak-room  in  eternal  pawn,  for  lack 
of  a  penny  fee.  And  then  he  remembered  the  porter, 
who  stood  suggestively  attentive,  words  of  gratitude 
hanging  on  his  lips. 

John  hunted  right  and  left;  he  found  a  coin  —  prayed 
God  that  it  was  a  sovereign  —  drew  it  out,  beheld  a 
half-penny,  and  offered  it  to  the  porter. 

The  man's  jaw  dropped. 

**  It's  only  a  half-penny! "  he  said,  startled  out  of  rail- 
way decency. 

"I  know  that,"  said  John,  piteously. 

And  here  the  porter  recovered  the  dignity  of  man. 

** Thank  you,  sir,"  said  he,  and  would  have  returned 
37» 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

the  base  gratuity.  But  John,  too,  would  none  of  it; 
and  as  they  struggled,  who  must  join  in  but  the  cab- 
man? 

*' Hoots,  Mr.  Baigrey,"  said  he,  **you  surely  forget 
what  day  it  is !  " 

"  I  tell  you  I  have  no  change! "  cried  John. 

*'  Well,"  said  the  driver,  "and  what  then  ?  I  would 
rather  give  a  man  a  shillin'  on  a  day  like  this  than  put 
him  off  with  a  derision  like  a  bawbee.  I'm  surprised 
at  the  like  of  you,  Mr.  Baigrey!  " 

"  My  name  is  not  Baigrey! "  broke  out  John,  in  mere 
childish  temper  and  distress. 

"Ye  told  me  it  was  yoursel',*'  said  the  cabman. 

"I  know  I  did;  and  what  the  devil  right  had  you  to 
ask  ?  "  cried  the  unhappy  one. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  the  driver.  "I  know  my 
place,  if  you  know  yours  —  if  you  know  yours!"  he 
repeated,  as  one  who  should  imply  grave  doubt;  and 
muttered  inarticulate  thunders,  in  which  the  grand  old 
name  of  gentleman  was  taken  seemingly  in  vain. 

Oh,  to  have  been  able  to  discharge  this  monster, 
whom  John  now  perceived,  with  tardy  clear-sighted- 
ness, to  have  begun  betimes  the  festivities  of  Christmas ! 
But  far  from  any  such  ray  of  consolation  visiting  the 
lost,  he  stood  bare  of  help  and  helpers,  his  portmanteau 
sequestered  in  one  place,  his  money  deserted  in  another 
and  guarded  by  a  corpse ;  himself,  so  sedulous  of  privacy, 
the  cynosure  of  all  men's  eyes  about  the  station ;  and, 
as  if  these  were  not  enough  mischances,  he  was  now 
fallen  in  ill-blood  with  the  beast  to  whom  his  poverty 
had  linked  him !  In  ill-blood,  as  he  reflected  dismally, 
with  the  witness  who  perhaps  might  hang  or  save  him! 


A  TRAGI-COMEDY   IN   A   CAB 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost;  he  durst  not  linger  any 
longer  in  that  public  spot;  and  whether  he  had  recourse 
to  dignity  or  conciliation,  the  remedy  must  be  applied 
at  once.  Some  happily  surviving  element  of  manhood 
moved  him  to  the  former. 

**Let  us  have  no  more  of  this,"  said  he,  his  foot  once 
more  upon  the  step.  "Go  back  to  where  we  came 
from." 

He  had  avoided  the  name  of  any  destination,  for  there 
was  now  quite  a  little  band  of  railway  folk  about  the 
cab,  and  he  still  kept  an  eye  upon  the  court  of  justice, 
and  laboured  to  avoid  concentric  evidence.  But  here 
again  the  fatal  jarvey  outmanoeuvered  him. 

'*Back  to  the  Ludge?"  cried  he,  in  shrill  tones  of 
protest. 

** Drive  on  at  once!"  roared  John,  and  slammed  the 
door  behind  him,  so  that  the  crazy  chariot  rocked  and 
jingled. 

Forth  trundled  the  cab  into  the  Christmas  streets,  the 
fare  within  plunged  in  the  blackness  of  a  despair  that 
neighboured  on  unconsciousness,  the  driver  on  the  box 
digesting  his  rebuke  and  his  customer's  duplicity.  I 
would  not  be  thought  to  put  the  pair  in  competition; 
John's  case  was  out  of  all  parallel.  But  the  cabman,  too, 
is  worth  the  sympathy  of  the  judicious;  for  he  was  a 
fellow  of  genuine  kindliness  and  a  high  sense  of  per- 
sonal dignity  incensed  by  drink;  and  his  advances  had 
been  cruelly  and  publicly  rebuffed.  As  he  drove,  there- 
fore, he  counted  his  wrongs,  and  thirsted  for  sympathy 
and  drink.  Now,  it  chanced  he  had  a  friend,  a  publi- 
can, in  Queensferry  Street,  from  whom,  in  view  of  the 
sacredness  of  the  occasion,  be  thought  he  might  extract 

373 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

a  dram.  Queensferry  Street  lies  something  off  the  di- 
rect road  to  Murrayfield.  But  then  there  is  the  hilly 
cross-road  that  passes  by  the  valley  of  the  Leith  and  the 
Dean  Cemetery ;  and  Queensferry  Street  is  on  the  way  to 
that.  What  was  to  hinder  the  cabman,  since  his  horse 
was  dumb,  from  choosing  the  cross-road,  and  calling 
on  his  friend  in  passing  ?  So  it  was  decided ;  and  the 
charioteer,  already  somewhat  mollified,  turned  aside  his 
horse  to  the  right. 

John,  meanwhile,  sat  collapsed,  his  chin  sunk  upon 
his  chest,  his  mind  in  abeyance.  The  smell  of  the  cab 
was  still  faintly  present  to  his  senses,  and  a  certain 
leaden  chill  about  his  feet;  all  else  had  disappeared  in 
one  vast  oppression  of  calamity  and  physical  faintness. 
It  was  drawing  on  to  noon  —  two-and-twenty  hours 
since  he  had  broken  bread ;  in  the  interval,  he  had  suf- 
fered tortures  of  sorrow  and  alarm,  and  been  partly 
tipsy;  and  though  it  was  impossible  to  say  he  slept, 
yet  when  the  cab  stopped  and  the  cabman  thrust  his 
head  into  the  window,  his  attention  had  to  be  recalled 
from  depths  of  vacancy. 

"If  you'll  no'  stand  me  a  dram,"  said  the  driver, 
with  a  well-merited  severity  of  tone  and  manner,  '*I 
dare  say  ye'll  have  no  objection  to  my  taking  one  my- 
sel'.?" 

*  *  Yes  —  no  —  do  what  you  like, "  returned  John ;  and 
then,  as  he  watched  his  tormentor  mount  the  stairs  and 
enter  the  whisky-shop,  there  floated  into  his  mind  a 
sense  as  of  something  long  ago  familiar.  At  that  he 
started  fully  awake,  and  stared  at  the  shop-fronts.  Yes, 
he  knew  them;  but  when  ?  and  how  ?  Long  since,  he 
thought;  and  then,  casting  his  eye  through  the  front 

374 


A  TRAGI-COMEDY   IN   A   CAB 

glass,  v/hich  had  been  recently  occluded  by  the  figure 
of  the  jarvey,  he  beheld  the  tree-tops  of  the  rookery  in 
Randolph  Crescent.  He  was  close  to  home  —  home, 
where  he  had  thought,  at  that  hour,  to  be  sitting  in  the 
well-remembered  drawing-room  in  friendly  converse; 
and,  instead ! 

It  was  his  first  impulse  to  drop  into  the  bottom  of  the 
cab;  his  next,  to  cover  his  face  with  his  hands.  So  he 
sat,  while  the  cabman  toasted  the  publican,  and  the 
publican  toasted  the  cabman,  and  both  reviewed  the 
affairs  of  the  nation;  so  he  still  sat,  when  his  master 
condescended  to  return,  and  drive  off  at  last  down-hill, 
along  the  curve  of  Lynedoch  Place;  but  even  so  sitting, 
as  he  passed  the  end  of  his  father's  street,  he  took  one 
glance  from  between  shielding  fingers,  and  beheld  a 
doctor's  carriage  at  the  door. 

"Well,  just  so,"  thought  he;  'Til  have  killed  my 
father!    And  this  is  Christmas-day! " 

If  Mr.  Nicholson  died,  it  was  down  this  same  road  he 
must  journey  to  the  grave;  and  down  this  road,  on  the 
same  errand,  his  wife  had  preceded  him  years  before; 
and  many  other  leading  citizens,  with  the  proper  trap- 
pings and  attendance  of  the  end.  And  now,  in  that 
frosty,  ill-smelling,  straw-carpeted,  and  ragged-cush- 
ioned cab,  with  his  breath  congealing  on  the  glasses, 
where  else  was  John  himself  advancing  to  ? 

The  thought  stirred  his  imagination,  which  began  to 
manufacture  many  thousand  pictures,  bright  and  fleet- 
ing, like  the  shapes  in  a  kaleidoscope;  and  now  he  saw 
himself,  ruddy  and  comfortered,  sliding  in  the  gutter; 
and,  again,  a  little  woe-begone,  bored  urchin  tricked 
forth  in  crape  and  weepers,  descending  this  same  hill  at 

375 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

the  foot's-pace  of  mourning  coaches,  his  mother's  body 
just  preceding  him ;  and  yet  again,  his  fancy,  running 
far  in  front,  showed  him  his  destination  —  now  standing 
solitary  in  the  low  sunshine,  with  the  sparrows  hopping 
on  the  threshold  and  the  dead  man  within  staring  at  the 
roof — and  now,  with  a  sudden  change,  thronged  about 
with  white-faced,  hand-uplifting  neighbours,  and  doc- 
tor bursting  through  their  midst  and  fixing  his  stetho- 
scope as  he  went,  the  policeman  shaking  a  sagacious 
head  beside  the  body.  It  was  to  this  he  feared  that  he 
was  driving ;  in  the  midst  of  this  he  saw  himself  arrive, 
heard  himself  stammer  faint  explanations,  and  felt  the 
hand  of  the  constable  upon  his  shoulder.  Heavens !  how 
he  wished  he  had  played  the  manlier  part;  how  he  de- 
spised himself  that  he  had  fled  that  fatal  neighbourhood 
when  all  was  quiet,  and  should  now  be  tamely  travelling 
back  when  it  was  thronging  with  avengers  1 

Any  strong  degree  of  passion  lends,  even  to  the  dull- 
est, the  forces  of  the  imagination.  And  so  now  as  he 
dwelt  on  what  was  probably  awaiting  him  at  the  end 
of  this  distressful  drive — John,  who  saw  things  little, 
remembered  them  less,  and  could  not  have  described 
them  at  all,  beheld  in  his  mind's  eye  the  garden  of  the 
Lodge,  detailed  as  in  a  map ;  he  went  to  and  fro  in  it, 
feeding  his  terrors ;  he  saw  the  hollies,  the  snowy  bor- 
ders, the  paths  where  he  had  sought  Alan,  the  high, 
conventual  walls,  the  shut  door  —  what!  was  the  door 
shut.?  Ay,  truly,  he  had  shut  it  —  shut  in  his  money, 
his  escape,  his  future  life — shut  it  with  these  hands, 
and  none  could  now  open  it!  He  heard  the  snap  of  the 
spring-lock  like  something  bursting  in  his  brain,  and 
sat  astonied. 

376 


A  TRAGI-COMEDY   IN   A   CAB 

And  then  he  woke  again,  terror  jarring  through  his 
vitals.  This  was  no  time  to  be  idle;  he  must  be  up  and 
doing,  he  must  think.  Once  at  the  end  of  this  ridicu- 
lous cruise,  once  at  the  Lodge  door,  there  would  be 
nothing  for  it  but  to  turn  the  cab  and  trundle  back 
again.  Why,  then,  go  so  far?  why  add  another  fea- 
ture of  suspicion  to  a  case  already  so  suggestive  ?  why 
not  turn  at  once  ?  It  was  easy  to  say,  turn ;  but  whither  ? 
He  had  nowhere  now  to  go  to;  he  could  never — he  saw 
it  in  letters  of  blood — he  could  never  pay  that  cab; 
he  was  saddled  with  that  cab  forever.  Oh,  that  cab! 
his  soul  yearned  and  burned,  and  his  bowels  sounded 
to  be  rid  of  it.  He  forgot  all  other  cares.  He  must  first 
quit  himself  of  this  ill-smelling  vehicle  and  of  the  human 
beast  that  guided  it  —  first  do  that;  do  that,  at  least;  do 
that  at  once. 

And  just  then  the  cab  suddenly  stopped,  and  there 
was  his  persecutor  rapping  on  the  front  glass.  John  let 
it  down,  and  beheld  the  port-wine  countenance  in- 
flamed with  intellectual  triumph. 

' '  I  ken  wha  ye  are !  "  cried  the  husky  voice.  ' '  I  mind 
ye  now.  Ye're  a  Nucholson.  I  drove  ye  to  Hermiston 
to  a  Christmas  party,  and  ye  came  back  on  the  box,  and 
I  let  ye  drive." 

It  is  a  fact.  John  knew  the  man;  they  had  been 
even  friends.  His  enemy,  he  now  remembered,  was 
a  fellow  of  great  good  nature  —  endless  good  nature 
—  with  a  boy;  why  not  with  a  man?  Why  not 
appeal  to  his  better  side?  He  grasped  at  the  new 
hope. 

"Great  Scott!  and  so  you  did,"  he  cried,  as  if  in  a 
transport  of  delight,  his  voice  sounding  false  in  his  own 

377 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

ears.     "  Well,  if  that's  so,  I've  something  to  say  to  you. 
I'll  just  get  out,  I  guess.    Where  are  we,  any  way?" 

The  driver  had  fluttered  his  ticket  in  the  eyes  of  the 
branch-toll  keeper,  and  they  were  now  brought  to  on 
the  highest  and  most  solitary  part  of  the  by-road.  On 
the  left,  a  row  of  fieldside  trees  beshaded  it;  on  the 
right,  it  was  bordered  by  naked  fallows,  undulating 
downhill  to  the  Queensferry  Road;  in  front,  Corstor- 
phine  Hill  raised  its  snow-bedabbled,  darkling  woods 
against  the  sky.  John  looked  all  about  him,  drinking 
the  clear  air  like  wine;  then  his  eyes  returned  to  the 
cabman's  face  as  he  sat,  not  ungleefully,  awaiting 
John's  communication,  with  the  air  of  one  looking  to 
be  tipped. 

The  features  of  that  face  were  hard  to  read,  drink  had 
so  swollen  them,  drink  had  so  painted  them,  in  tints 
that  varied  from  brick  red  to  mulberry.  The  small  gray 
eyes  blinked,  the  lips  moved,  with  greed;  greed  was  the 
ruling  passion ;  and  though  there  was  some  good  nature, 
some  genuine  kindliness,  a  true  human  touch,  in  the  old 
toper,  his  greed  was  now  so  set  afire  by  hope,  that  all 
other  traits  of  character  lay  dormant.  He  sat  there  a 
monument  of  gluttonous  desire. 

John's  heart  slowly  fell.  He  had  opened  his  lips,  but 
he  stood  there  and  uttered  nought.  He  sounded  the 
well  of  his  courage,  and  it  was  dry.  He  groped  in  his 
treasury  of  v/ords,  and  it  was  vacant.  A  devil  of  dumb- 
ness had  him  by  the  throat;  the  devil  of  terror  babbled 
in  his  ears;  and  suddenly,  without  a  word  uttered,  with 
no  conscious  purpose  formed  in  his  will,  John  whipped 
about,  tumbled  over  the  roadside  wall,  and  began  run- 
ning for  his  life  across  the  fallows. 

378 


A  TRAGI-COMEDY   IN   A   CAB 

He  had  not  gone  far,  he  was  not  past  the  midst  of 
the  first  field,  when  his  whole  brain  thundered  within 
him,  **Fool!  You  have  your  watch!"  The  shock 
stopped  him,  and  he  faced  once  more  toward  the  cab. 
The  driver  was  leaning  over  the  wall,  brandishing  his 
whip,  his  face  empurpled,  roaring  like  a  bull.  And 
John  saw  (or  thought)  that  he  had  lost  the  chance. 
No  watch  would  pacify  the  man's  resentment  now ;  he 
would  cry  for  vengeance  also.  John  would  be  had 
under  the  eye  of  the  police;  his  tale  would  be  unfolded, 
his  secret  plumbed,  his  destiny  would  close  on  him  at 
last,  and  forever. 

He  uttered  a  deep  sigh ;  and  just  as  the  cabman,  tak- 
ing heart  of  grace,  was  beginning  at  last  to  scale  the 
wall,  his  defaulting  customer  fell  again  to  running,  and 
disappeared  into  the  further  fields. 


379 


CHAPTER   VIII 

SINGULAR   INSTANCE   OF  THE   UTILITY   OF   PASS-KEYS. 

Where  he  ran  at  first,  John  never  very  clearly  knew; 
nor  yet  how  long  a  time  elapsed  ere  he  found  himself 
in  the  by-road  near  the  lodge  of  Ravelston,  propped 
against  the  wall,  his  lungs  heaving  like  bellows,  his 
legs  leaden-heavy,  his  mind  possessed  by  one  sole  de- 
sire—  to  lie  down  and  be  unseen.  He  remembered  the 
thick  coverts  round  the  quarry-hole  pond,  an  untrodden 
corner  of  the  world  where  he  might  surely  find  conceal- 
ment till  the  night  should  fall.  Thither  he  passed  down 
the  lane;  and  when  he  came  there,  behold!  he  had  for- 
gotten the  frost,  and  the  pond  was  alive  with  young 
people  skating,  and  the  pond-side  coverts  were  thick 
with  lookers-on.  He  looked  on  awhile  himself  There 
was  one  tall,  graceful  maiden,  skating  hand  in  hand 
with  a  youth,  on  whom  she  bestowed  her  bright  eyes 
perhaps  too  patently;  and  it  was  strange  with  what 
anger  John  beheld  her.  He  could  have  broken  forth  in 
curses;  he  could  have  stood  there,  like  a  mortified 
tramp,  and  shaken  his  fist  and  vented  his  gall  upon 
her  by  the  hour  —  or  so  he  thought;  and  the  next  mo- 
ment his  heart  bled  for  the  girl.  '*Poor  creature, 
it's  little  she  knows!"  he  sighed.  *'Let  her  enjoy 
herself  while  she  can ! "     But  was  it  possible,  when 

380 


SINGULAR  INSTANCE  OF  THE   UTILITY  OF  PASS-KEYS 

Flora  used  to  smile  at  him  on  the  Braid  ponds,  she 
could  have  looked  so  fulsome  to  a  sick-hearted  by- 
stander ? 

The  thought  of  one  quarry,  in  his  frozen  wits,  sug- 
gested another;  and  he  plodded  off  toward  Craig  Leith. 
A  wind  had  sprung  up  out  of  the  north-west;  it  was 
cruel  keen,  it  dried  him  like  a  fire,  and  racked  his  finger- 
joints.  It  brought  clouds,  too;  pale,  swift,  hurrying 
clouds,  that  blotted  heaven  and  shed  gloom  upon  the 
earth.  He  scrambled  up  among  the  hazelled  rubbish 
heaps  that  surround  the  cauldron  of  the  quarry,  and  lay 
flat  upon  the  stones.  The  wind  searched  close  along  the 
earth,  the  stones  were  cutting  and  icy,  the  bare  hazels 
wailed  about  him ;  and  soon  the  air  of  the  afternoon  be- 
gan to  be  vocal  with  those  strange  and  dismal  harpings 
that  herald  snow.  Pain  and  misery  turned  in  John's 
limbs  to  a  harrowing  impatience  and  blind  desire  of 
change ;  now  he  would  roll  in  his  harsh  lair,  and  when 
the  flints  abraded  him,  was  almost  pleased;  now  he 
would  crawl  to  the  edge  of  the  huge  pit  and  look  dizzily 
down.  He  saw  the  spiral  of  the  descending  roadway, 
the  steep  crags,  the  clinging  bushes,  the  peppering  of 
snow-wreaths,  and  far  down  in  the  bottom,  the  dimin- 
ished crane.  Here,  no  doubt,  was  a  way  to  end  it.  But 
it  somehow  did  not  take  his  fancy. 

And  suddenly  he  was  aware  that  he  was  hungry ;  ay, 
even  through  the  tortures  of  the  cold,  even  through  the 
frosts  of  despair,  a  gross,  desperate  longing  after  food, 
no  matter  what,  no  matter  how,  began  to  wake  and  spur 
him.  Suppose  he  pawned  his  watch  ?  But  no,  on 
Christmas-day  —  this  was  Christmas-day!  —  the  pawn- 
shop would  be  closed.     Suppose  he  went  to  the  public- 

381 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

house  close  by  at  Blackball,  and  oflfered  the  watch,  which 
was  worth  ten  pounds,  in  payment  for  a  meal  of  bread 
and  cheese?  The  incongruity  was  too  remarkable;  the 
good  folks  would  either  put  him  to  the  door,  or  only  let 
him  in  to  send  for  the  police.  He  turned  his  pockets 
out  one  after  another;  some  San  Francisco  tram-car 
checks,  one  cigar,  no  lights,  the  pass-key  to  his  father's 
house,  a  pocket-handkerchief,  with  just  a  touch  of  scent: 
no,  money  could  be  raised  on  none  of  these.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  starve ;  and  after  all,  what  mattered 
it  ?    That  also  was  a  door  of  exit. 

He  crept  close  among  the  bushes,  the  wind  playing 
round  him  like  a  lash ;  his  clothes  seemed  thin  as  paper, 
his  joints  burned,  his  skin  curdled  on  his  bones.  He  had 
a  vision  of  a  high-lying  cattle-drive  in  California,  and  the 
bed  of  a  dried  stream  with  one  muddy  pool,  by  which 
the  vaqueros  had  encamped:  splendid  sun  over  all,  the 
big  bonfire  blazing,  the  strips  of  cow  browning  and 
smoking  on  a  skewer  of  wood ;  how  warm  it  was,  how 
savoury  the  steam  of  scorching  meat!  And  then  again 
he  remembered  his  manifold  calamities,  and  burrowed 
and  vv^allowed  in  the  sense  of  his  disgrace  and  shame. 
And  next  he  was  entering  Frank's  restaurant  in  Mont- 
gomery Street,  San  Francisco ;  he  had  ordered  a  pan-stew 
and  venison  chops,  of  which  he  was  immoderately  fond, 
and  as  he  sat  waiting,  Munroe,  the  good  attendant, 
brought  him  a  whisky  punch;  he  saw  the  strawberries 
float  on  the  delectable  cup,  he  heard  the  ice  chink  about 
the  straws.  And  then  he  woke  again  to  his  detested 
fate,  and  found  himself  sitting,  humped  together,  in  a 
windy  combe  of  quarry  refuse  —  darkness  thick  about 
him,  thin  flakes  of  snow  flying  here  and  there  like  rags 

382 


SINGULAR  INSTANCE  OF  THE   UTILITY   OF   PASS-KEYS 

of  paper,  and  the  strong  shuddering  of  his  body  clashing 
his  teeth  like  a  hiccough. 

We  have  seen  John  in  nothing  but  the  stormiest  con- 
dition ;  we  have  seen  him  reckless,  desperate,  tried  be- 
yond his  moderate  powers;  of  his  daily  self,  cheerful, 
regular,  not  unthrifty,  we  have  seen  nothing ;  and  it  may 
thus  be  a  surprise  to  the  reader,  to  learn  that  he  was  stu- 
diously careful  of  his  health.  This  favorite  preoccupation 
now  awoke.  If  he  were  to  sit  there  and  die  of  cold,  there 
would  be  mighty  little  gained;  better  the  police  cell  and 
the  chances  of  a  jury  trial,  than  the  miserable  certainty 
of  death  at  a  dike-side  before  the  next  winter's  dawn,  or 
death  a  little  later  in  the  gas-lighted  wards  of  an  infirmary. 

He  rose  on  aching  legs,  and  stumbled  here  and  there 
among  the  rubbish  heaps,  still  circumvented  by  the  yawn- 
ing crater  of  the  quarry ;  or  perhaps  he  only  thought  so, 
for  the  darkness  was  already  dense,  the  snow  was  grow- 
ing thicker,  and  he  moved  like  a  blind  man,  and  with  a 
blind  man's  terrors.  At  last  he  climbed  a  fence,  thinking 
to  drop  into  the  road,  and  found  himself  staggering,  in- 
stead, among  the  iron  furrows  of  a  plowland,  endless,  it 
seemed,  as  a  whole  county.  And  next  he  was  in  a  wood, 
beating  among  young  trees;  and  then  he  was  aware  of 
a  house  with  many  lighted  windows,  Christmas  car- 
riages waiting  at  the  doors,  and  Christmas  drivers  (for 
Christmas  has  a  double  edge)  becoming  swiftly  hooded 
with  snow.  From  this  glimpse  of  human  cheerfulness, 
he  fled  like  Cain ;  wandered  in  the  night,  unpiloted,  care- 
less of  whither  he  went;  fell,  and  lay,  and  then  rose  again 
and  wandered  further;  and  at  last,  like  a  transformation 
scene,  behold  him  in  the  lighted  jaws  of  the  city,  star- 
ing at  a  lamp  which  had  already  donned  the  tilted 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

night-cap  of  the  snow.  It  came  thickly  now,  a  '*  Feed- 
ing Storm ; "  and  while  he  yet  stood  blinking  at  the 
lamp,  his  feet  were  buried.  He  remembered  some- 
thing like  it  in  the  past,  a  street-lamp  crowned  and 
caked  upon  the  windward  side  with  snow,  the  wind 
uttering  its  mournful  hoot,  himself  looking  on,  even  as 
now ;  but  the  cold  had  struck  too  sharply  on  his  wits, 
and  memory  failed  him  as  to  the  date  and  sequel  of  the 
reminiscence. 

His  next  conscious  moment  was  on  the  Dean  Bridge; 
but  whether  he  was  John  Nicholson  of  *a  bank  in  a  Cali- 
fornia street,  or  some  former  John,  a  clerk  in  his  father's 
office,  he  had  now  clean  forgotten.  Another  blank,  and 
he  was  thrusting  his  pass-key  into  the  door-lock  of  his 
father's  house. 

Hours  must  have  passed.  Whether  crouched  on  the 
cold  stones  or  wandering  in  the  fields  among  the  snow, 
was  more  than  he  could  tell;  but  hours  had  passed. 
The  finger  of  the  hall  clock  was  close  on  twelve;  a  nar- 
row peep  of  gas  in  the  hall-lamp  shed  shadows;  and 
the  door  of  the  back  room  —  his  father's  room  —  was 
open  and  emitted  a  warm  light.  At  so  late  an  hour, 
all  this  was  strange;  the  lights  should  have  been  out, 
the  doors  locked,  the  good  folk  safe  in  bed.  He  mar- 
velled at  the  irregularity,  leaning  on  the  hall-table;  and 
marvelled  to  himself  there;  and  thawed  and  grew  once 
more  hungry,  in  the  warmer  air  of  the  house. 

The  clock  uttered  its  premonitory  catch ;  in  five  min- 
utes Christmas-day  would  be  among  the  days  of  the 
past  —  Christmas!  —  what  a  Christmas!  Well,  there 
was  no  use  waiting;  he  had  come  into  that  house,  he 
scarce  knew  how ;  if  they  were  to  thrust  him  forth 

384 


SINGULAR  INSTANCE  OF  THE   UTILITY   OF  PASS-KEYS 

again,  it  had  best  be  done  at  once;  and  he  moved  to 
the  door  of  the  back  room  and  entered. 

Oh,  well,  then  he  was  insane,  as  he  had  long  believed. 

There,  in  his  father's  room,  at  midnight,  the  fire  was 
roaring  and  the  gas  blazing;  the  papers,  the  sacred  pa- 
pers—  to  lay  a  hand  on  which  was  criminal  —  had  all 
been  taken  off  and  piled  along  the  floor;  a  cloth  was 
spread,  and  a  supper  laid,  upon  the  business  table;  and 
in  his  father's  chair  a  woman,  habited  like  a  nun,  sat 
eating.  As  he  appeared  in  the  door-way,  the  nun  rose, 
gave  a  low  cry,  and  stood  staring.  She  was  a  large 
woman,  strong,  calm,  a  little  masculine,  her  features 
marked  with  courage  and  good  sense;  and  as  John 
blinked  back  at  her,  a  faint  resemblance  dodged  about 
his  memory,  as  when  a  tune  haunts  us,  and  yet  will  not 
be  recalled. 

"  Why,  it's  John! "  cried  the  nun. 

**I  dare  say  I'm  mad,"  said  John,  unconsciously  fol- 
lowing King  Lear;  "but,  upon  my  word,  I  do  believe 
you're  Flora." 

**  Of  course  I  am,"  replied  she. 

And  yet  it  is  not  Flora  at  all,  thought  John ;  Flora 
was  slender,  and  timid,  and  of  changing  colour,  and 
dewy-eyed;  and  had  Flora  such  an  Edinburgh  accent? 
But  he  said  none  of  these  things,  which  was  perhaps 
as  well.  What  he  said  was,  '*Then  why  are  you  a 
nun  ?" 

"  Such  nonsense  !  "  said  Flora.  **  I'm  a  sick-nurse; 
and  I  am  here  nursing  your  sister,  with  whom,  between 
you  and  me,  there  is  precious  little  the  matter.  But  that 
is  not  the  question.  The  point  is:  How  do  you  com© 
here?  and  are  you  not  ashamed  to  show  yourself?" 

3»5 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

"Flora,"  said  John,  sepulchrally,  '*!  haven't  eaten 
anything  for  three  days.  Or,  at  least,  I  don't  know 
what  day  it  is;  but  I  guess  I'm  starving." 

*' You  unhappy  man!  "  she  cried.  ''  Here,  sit  down 
and  eat  my  supper;  and  I'll  just  run  up  stairs  and  see 
my  patient,  not  but  what  I  doubt  she's  fast  asleep ;  for 
Maria  is  a  malade  imaginatre. 

With  this  specimen  of  the  French,  not  of  Stratford- 
atte-Bowe,  but  of  a  finishing  establishment  in  Moray 
Place,  she  left  John  alone  in  his  father's  sanctum.  He 
fell  at  once  upon  the  food;  and  it  is  to  be  supposed  that 
Flora  had  found  her  patient  wakeful,  and  been  detained 
with  some  details  of  nursing,  for  he  had  time  to  make 
a  full  end  of  all  there  was  to  eat,  and  not  only  to  empty 
the  teapot,  but  to  fill  it  again  from  a  kettle  that  was  fit- 
fully singing  on  his  father's  fire.  Then  he  sat  torpid, 
and  pleased,  and  bewildered ;  his  misfortunes  were  then 
half  forgotten ;  his  mind  considering,  not  without  re- 
gret, this  unsentimental  return  to  his  old  love. 

He  was  thus  engaged,  when  that  bustling  woman 
noiselessly  re-entered. 

"Have  you  eaten?"  said  she.  "Then  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

It  was  a  long  and  (as  the  reader  knows)  a  pitiful 
story;  but  Flora  heard  it  with  compressed  lips.  She 
was  lost  in  none  of  those  questionings  of  human  des- 
tiny that  have,  from  time  to  time,  arrested  the  flight  of 
my  own  pen;  for  women,  such  as  she,  are  no  philoso- 
phers, and  behold  the  concrete  only.  And  women, 
such  as  she,  are  very  hard  on  the  imperfect  man. 

"Very  well,  "said  she,  when  he  had  done;  "then  down 
upon  your  knees  at  once,  and  beg  God's  forgiveness." 

386 


SINGULAR  INSTANCE   OF  THE   UTILITY   OF   PASS-KEYS 

And  the  great  baby  plumped  upon  his  knees,  and  did 
as  he  was  bid ;  and  none  the  worse  for  that!  But  while 
he  was  heartily  enough  requesting  forgiveness  on  gen- 
eral principles,  the  rational  side  of  him  distinguished, 
and  wondered  if,  perhaps,  the  apology  were  not  due 
upon  the  other  part.  And  when  he  rose  again  from  that 
becoming  exercise,  he  first  eyed  the  face  of  his  old  love 
doubtfully,  and  then,  taking  heart,  uttered  his  protest. 

"I  must  say,  Flora,"  said  he,  ''in  all  this  business,  I 
can  see  very  little  fault  of  mine." 

"  If  you  had  written  home,"  replied  the  lady,  "there 
would  have  been  none  of  it.  If  you  had  even  gone  to 
Murrayfield  reasonably  sober,  you  would  never  have 
slept  there,  and  the  worst  would  not  have  happened. 
Besides,  the  whole  thing  began  years  ago.  You  got 
into  trouble,  and  when  your  father,  honest  man,  was 
disappointed,  you  took  the  pet,  or  got  afraid,  and  ran 
away  from  punishment.  Well,  you've  had  your  own 
way  of  it,  John,  and  I  don't  suppose  you  like  it." 

"  I  sometimes  fancy  I'm  not  much  better  than  a  fool," 
sighed  John. 

"My  dear  John,"  said  she,  "not  much!" 

He  looked  at  her,  and  his  eye  fell.  A  certain  anger 
rose  within  him;  here  was  a  Flora  he  disowned;  she 
was  hard;  she  was  of  a  set  colour;  a  settled,  mature, 
undecorative  manner;  plain  of  speech,  plain  of  habit  — 
he  had  come  near  saying,  plain  of  face.  And  this 
changeling  called  herself  by  the  same  name  as  the  many- 
coloured,  clinging  maid  of  yore;  she  of  the  frequent 
laughter,  and  the  many  sighs,  and  the  kind,  stolen 
glances.  And  to  make  all  worse,  she  took  the  upper 
hand  with  him,  which  (as  John  well  knew)  was  not 

387 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN   NICHOLSON 

the  true  relation  of  the  sexes.     He  steeled  his  heart 
against  this  sick-nurse. 

''And  how  do  you  come  to  be  here ? "  he  asked. 

She  told  him  how  she  had  nursed  her  father  in  his 
long  illness,  and  when  he  died,  and  she  was  left  alone, 
had  taken  to  nurse  others,  partly  from  habit,  partly  to 
be  of  some  service  in  the  world ;  partly,  it  might  be,  for 
amusement.  "There's  no  accounting  for  taste,"  said 
she.  And  she  told  him  how  she  went  largely  to  the 
houses  of  old  friends,  as  the  need  arose;  and  how  she 
was  thus  doubly  welcome,  as  an  old  friend  first,  and 
then  as  an  experienced  nurse,  to  whom  doctors  would 
confide  the  gravest  cases. 

*'And,  indeed,  it's  a  mere  farce  my  being  here  for 
poor  Maria, "  she  continued ;  ' '  but  your  father  takes  her 
ailments  to  heart,  and  I  cannot  always  be  refusing  him. 
We  are  great  friends,  your  father  and  I;  he  was  very 
kind  to  me  long  ago  —  ten  years  ago." 

A  strange  stir  came  in  John's  heart.  All  this  while 
had  he  been  thinking  only  of  himself  ?  All  this  while, 
why  had  he  not  written  to  Flora  ?  In  penitential  ten- 
derness, he  took  her  hand,  and,  to  his  awe  and  trouble, 
it  remained  in  his,  compliant.  A  voice  told  him  this 
was  Flora,  after  all  —  told  him  so  quietly,  yet  with  a 
thrill  of  singing. 

**  And  you  never  married  ?  "  said  he. 

**No,  John;  I  never  married,"  she  replied. 

The  hall  clock  striking  two  recalled  them  to  the  sense 
of  time. 

''And  now,"  said  she,  **you  have  been  fed  and 
warmed,  and  I  have  heard  your  story,  and  now  it's 
high  time  to  call  your  brother." 

388 


SINGULAR  INSTANCE  OF  THE   UTILITY   OF  PASS-KEYS 

**0h!"  cried  John,  chap-fallen;  "do  you  think  that 
absolutely  necessary  ?  " 

"I  can't  keep  you  here;  I  am  a  stranger,"  said  she. 
"Do  you  want  to  run  away  again  ?  I  thought  you  had 
enough  of  that." 

He  bowed  his  head  under  the  reproof.  She  despised 
him,  he  reflected,  as  he  sat  once  more  alone ;  a  monstrous 
thing  for  a  woman  to  despise  a  man;  and  strangest  of 
all,  she  seemed  to  like  him.  Would  his  brother  despise 
him,  too  }    And  would  his  brother  like  him  ? 

And  presently  the  brother  appeared,  under  Flora's 
escort;  and,  standing  afar  off  beside  the  door-way,  eyed 
the  hero  of  this  tale. 

"  So  this  is  you  ?"  he  said,  at  length. 

"Yes,  Alick,  it's  me  —  it's  John,"  replied  the  elder 
brother,  feebly. 

*  *And  how  did  you  get  in  here  ?  "  inquired  the  younger. 

"Oh,  I  had  my  pass-key,"  says  John. 

"The  deuce  you  had!"  said  Alexander.  "Ah,  you 
lived  in  a  better  world !  There  are  no  pass-keys  going 
now." 

"Well,  father  was  always  averse  to  them,"  sighed 
John.  And  the  conversation  then  broke  down,  and  the 
brothers  looked  askance  at  one  another  in  silence. 

"Well,  and  what  the  devil  are  we  to  do?"  said  Al- 
exander. "I  suppose  if  the  authorities  got  wind  of 
you,  you  would  be  taken  up  ?  " 

"It  depends  on  whether  they've  found  the  body  or 
not,"  returned  John.  "And  then  there's  that  cabman, 
to  be  sure !  " 

"Oh,  bother  the  body!"  said  Alexander.  "I  mean 
about  the  other  thing.     That's  serious." 

389 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

"Is  that  what  my  father  spoke  about  ? "  asked  John. 
"I  don't  even  know  what  it  is." 
'    **  About  your  robbing  your  bank  in  California,  of 
course,"  replied  Alexander. 

It  was  plain,  from  Flora's  face,  that  this  was  the  first 
she  had  heard  of  it;  it  was  plainer  still,  from  John's,  that 
he  was  innocent. 

*M!"  he  exclaimed.  *M  rob  my  bank!  My  God! 
Flora,  this  is  too  much;  even  you  must  allow  that." 

"Meaning  you  didn't.^"  asked  Alexander. 

"I  never  robbed  a  soul  in  all  my  days,"  cried  John: 
"except  my  father,  if  you  call  that  robbery;  and  I 
brought  him  back  the  money  in  this  room,  and  he 
wouldn't  even  take  it!" 

"Look  here,  John,"  said  his  brother;  "let  us  have 
no  misunderstanding  upon  this.  Macewen  saw  my 
father;  he  told  him  a  bank  you  had  worked  for  in  San 
Francisco  was  wiring  over  the  habitable  globe  to  have 
you  collared  —  that  it  was  supposed  you  had  nailed 
thousands;  and  it  was  dead  certain  you  had  nailed  three 
hundred.  So  Macewen  said,  and  I  wish  you  would  be 
careful  how  you  answer.  I  may  tell  you  also,  that  your 
father  paid  the  three  hundred  on  the  spot." 

"Three  hundred ?"  repeated  John.  "Three  hundred 
pounds,  you  mean  ?  That's  fifteen  hundred  dollars. 
Why,  then,  it's  Kirkman!"  he  broke  out.  "Thank 
Heaven!  I  can  explain  all  that.  I  gave  them  to  Kirk- 
man to  pay  for  me  the  night  before  I  left  —  fifteen  hun- 
dred dollars,  and  a  letter  to  the  manager.  What  do  they 
suppose  I  would  steal  fifteen  hundred  dollars  for  ?  I'm 
rich ;  I  struck  it  rich  in  stocks.  It's  the  silliest  stuff  I 
ever  heard  of.     All  that's  needful  is  to  cable  to  the  man- 

390 


SINGULAR  INSTANCE   OF  THE   UTILITY   OF   PASS-KEYS 

ager:  Kirkman  has  the  fifteen  hundred  —  find  Kirkman. 
He  was  a  fellow-clerk  of  mine,  and  a  hard  case;  but  to 
do  him  justice,  I  didn't  think  he  was  as  hard  as  this." 

**  And  what  do  you  say  to  that,  Alick  ?  "  asked  Flora. 

**  I  say  the  cablegram  shall  go  to-night!  "  cried  Alex- 
ander, with  energy.  "Answer  prepaid,  too.  If  this 
can  be  cleared  away  —  and  upon  my  word  I  do  believe 
it  can  —  we  shall  all  be  able  to  hold  up  our  heads  again. 
Here,  you  John,  you  stick  down  the  address  of  your 
bank  manager.  You,  Flora,  you  can  pack  John  into 
my  bed,  for  which  I  have  no  further  use  to-night.  As 
for  me,  I  am  off  to  the  post-office,  and  thence  to  the 
High  Street  about  the  dead  body.  The  police  ought  to 
know,  you  see,  and  they  ought  to  know  through  John; 
and  I  can  tell  them  some  rigmarole  about  my  brother 
being  a  man  of  highly  nervous  organization,  and  the 
rest  of  it.  And  then,  I'll  tell  you  what,  John  —  did  you 
notice  the  name  upon  the  cab  ?  " 

John  gave  the  name  of  the  driver,  which,  as  I  have 
not  been  able  to  command  the  vehicle,  I  here  suppress. 

**Well,"  resumed  Alexander,  "I'll  call  round  at  their 
place  before  I  come  back,  and  pay  your  shot  for  you. 
In  that  way,  before  breakfast-time,  you'll  be  as  good  as 
new." 

John  murmured  inarticulate  thanks.  To  see  his  brother 
thus  energetic  in  his  service  moved  him  beyond  expres- 
sion; if  he  could  not  utter  what  he  felt,  he  showed  it 
legibly  in  his  face;  and  Alexander  read  it  there,  and 
liked  it  the  better  in  that  dumb  delivery. 

"  But  there's  one  thing,"  said  the  latter,  "cablegrams 
are  dear;  and  I  dare  say  you  remember  enough  of  the 
governor  to  guess  the  state  of  my  finances." 

391 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

**The  trouble  is,"  said  John,  "  that  all  my  stamps  are 
in  that  beastly  house." 

**A11  your  what?"  asked  Alexander. 

*' Stamps  —  money,"  explained  John.  **  It's  an  Ameri- 
can expression;  I'm  afraid  I  contracted  one  or  two." 

*'I  have  some,"  said  Flora.  *'I  have  a  pound  note 
upstairs." 

**  My  dear  Flora,"  returned  Alexander,  **  a  pound  note 
won't  see  us  very  far;  and  besides,  this  is  my  father's 
business,  and  I  shall  be  very  much  surprised  if  it  isn't 
my  father  who  pays  for  it." 

**I  would  not  apply  to  him  yet;  I  do  not  think  that 
can  be  wise,"  objected  Flora. 

**You  have  a  very  imperfect  idea  of  my  resources, 
and  none  at  all  of  my  effrontery,"  replied  Alexander. 
** Please  observe." 

He  put  John  from  his  way,  chose  a  stout  knife  among 
the  supper  things,  and  with  surprising  quickness  broke 
into  his  father's  drawer. 

**  There's  nothing  easier  when  you  come  to  try,"  he 
observed,  pocketing  the  money. 

'*  I  wish  you  had  not  done  that,"  said  Flora.  *'  You 
will  never  hear  the  last  of  it." 

''Oh,  I  don't  know,"  returned  the  young  man;  *'the 
governor  is  human  after  all.  And  now,  John,  let  me 
see  your  famous  pass-key.  Get  into  bed,  and  don't 
move  for  any  one  till  I  come  back.  They  won't  mind 
you  not  answering  when  they  knock;  I  generally  don't 
myself." 


39a 


CHAPTER  IX 

IN  WHICH  MR.    NICHOLSON   ACCEPTS  THE  PRINCIPLE  OF 

AN   ALLOWANCE 

In  spite  of  the  horrors  of  the  day  and  the  tea-drinking 
of  the  night,  John  slept  the  sleep  of  infancy.  He  was 
awakened  by  the  maid,  as  it  might  have  been  ten  years 
ago,  tapping  at  the  door.  The  winter  sunrise  was 
painting  the  east;  and  as  the  window  was  to  the  back 
of  the  house,  it  shone  into  the  room  with  many  strange 
colours  of  refracted  light.  Without,  the  houses  were 
all  cleanly  roofed  with  snow;  the  garden  walls  were 
coped  with  it  a  foot  in  height;  the  greens  lay  glittering. 
Yet  strange  as  snow  had  grown  to  John  during  his  years 
upon  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco,  it  was  what  he  saw 
within  that  most  affected  him.  For  it  was  to  his  own 
room  that  Alexander  had  been  promoted;  there  was  the 
old  paper  with  the  device  of  flowers,  in  which  a  cunning 
fancy  might  yet  detect  the  face  of  Skinny  Jim,  of  the 
Academy,  John's  former  dominie;  there  was  the  old 
chest  of  drawers;  there  were  the  chairs  —  one,  two, 
three  —  three  as  before.  Only  the  carpet  was  new,  and 
the  litter  of  Alexander's  clothes  and  books  and  drawing 
materials,  and  a  pencil-drawing  on  the  wall,  which  (in 
John's  eyes)  appeared  a  marvel  of  proficiency. 

He  was  thus  lying,  and  looking,  and  dreaming,  hang- 
ing, as  it  were,  between  two  epochs  of  his  life,  when 

393 


THE  MISADVENTURES   OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

Alexander  came  to  the  door,  and  made  his  presence 
known  in  a  loud  whisper.  John  let  him  in,  and  jumped 
back  into  the  warm  bed. 

''Well,  John,"  said  Alexander,  "the  cablegram  is 
sent  in  your  name,  and  twenty  words  of  answer  paid. 
I  have  been  to  the  cab  office  and  paid  your  cab,  even 
saw  the  old  gentleman  himself,  and  properly  apologised. 
He  was  mighty  placable,  and  indicated  his  belief  you 
had  b':;en  drinking.  Then  I  knocked  up  old  Macewen 
out  of  bed,  and  explained  affairs  to  him  as  he  sat  and 
shivered  in  a  dressing-gown.  And  before  that  I  had 
been  to  the  High  Street,  where  they  have  heard  nothing 
of  your  dead  body,  so  that  I  incline  to  the  idea  that  you 
dreamed  it." 

"  Catch  me! "  said  John. 

*'  Well,  the  police  never  do  know  anything,"  assented 
Alexander;  **and  at  any  rate,  they  have  dispatched  a 
man  to  inquire  and  to  recover  your  trousers  and  your 
money,  so  that  really  your  bill  is  now  fairly  clean ;  and 
I  see  but  one  lion  in  your  path  —  the  governor." 

"I'll  be  turned  out  again,  you'll  see,"  said  John,  dis- 
mally. 

"  I  don't  imagine  so,"  returned  the  other;  "  not  if  you 
do  what  Flora  and  I  have  arranged ;  and  your  business 
now  is  to  dress,  and  lose  no  time  about  it.  Is  your 
watch  right  ?  Well,  you  have  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
By  five  minutes  before  the  half  hour  you  must  be  at 
table,  in  your  old  seat,  under  Uncle  Duthie's  picture. 
Flora  will  be  there  to  keep  you  countenance;  and  we 
shall  see  what  we  shall  see." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  wiser  for  me  to  stay  in  bed?"  said 
John. 

394 


NICHOLSON   ACCEPTS  THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  AN  ALLOWANCE 

*'  If  you  mean  to  manage  your  own  concerns,  you  can 
do  precisely  what  you  like,"  replied  Alexander;  "but 
if  you  are  not  in  your  place  five  minutes  before  the  half 
hour  I  wash  my  hands  of  you,  for  one." 

And  thereupon  he  departed.  He  had  spoken  warmly, 
but  the  truth  is,  his  heart  was  somewhat  troubled.  And 
as  he  hung  over  the  balusters,  watching  for  his  father  to 
appear,  he  had  hard  ado  to  keep  himself  braced  for  the 
encounter  that  must  follow. 

"If  he  takes  it  well,  1  shall  be  lucky,"  he  reflected. 
"If  he  takes  it  ill,  why  it'll  be  a  herring  across  John's 
tracks,  and  perhaps  all  for  the  best.  He's  a  confounded 
muff,  this  brother  of  mine,  but  he  seems  a  decent  soul." 

At  that  stage  a  door  opened  below  with  a  certain  em- 
phasis, and  Mr.  Nicholson  was  seen  solemnly  to  descend 
the  stairs,  and  pass  into  his  own  apartment.  Alexander 
followed,  quaking  inwardly,  but  with  a  steady  face.  He 
knocked,  was  bidden  to  enter,  and  found  his  father 
standing  in  front  of  the  forced  drawer,  to  which  he 
pointed  as  he  spoke. 

"This  is  a  most  extraordinary  thing,"  said  he;  "I 
have  been  robbed ! " 

"I  was  afraid  you  would  notice  it,"  observed  his 
son;  "it  made  such  a  beastly  hash  of  the  table." 

"You  were  afraid  I  would  notice  it?"  repeated  Mr. 
Nicholson.     "  And,  pray,  what  may  that  mean  ?  " 

"That  I  was  a  thief,  sir,"  returned  Alexander.  "I 
took  all  the  money  in  case  the  servants  should  get  hold 
of  it;  and  here  is  the  change,  and  a  note  of  my  expendi- 
ture. You  were  gone  to  bed,  you  see,  and  I  did  not 
feel  at  liberty  to  knock  you  up ;  but  I  think  when  you 
have  heard  the  circumstances,  you  will  do  me  justice. 

^95 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

The  fact  is,  I  have  reason  to  believe  there  has  been  some 
dreadful  error  about  my  brother  John;  the  sooner  it  can 
be  cleared  up  the  better  for  all  parties ;  it  was  a  piece  of 
business,  sir  —  and  so  I  took  it,  and  decided,  on  my  own 
responsibility,  to  send  a  telegram  to  San  Francisco. 
Thanks  to  my  quickness  we  may  hear  to-night.  There 
appears  to  be  no  doubt,  sir,  that  John  has  been  abomi- 
nably used." 

''  When  did  this  take  place  ?  "  asked  the  father. 

**  Last  night,  sir,  after  you  were  asleep, "  was  the  reply. 

"It's  most  extraordinary,"  said  Mr.  Nicholson.  ** Do 
you  mean  to  say  you  have  been  out  all  night  ?  " 

''AH  night,  as  you  say,  sir.  I  have  been  to  the  tele- 
graph and  the  police  office,  and  Mr.  Macewen's.  Oh, 
I  had  my  hands  full,"  said  Alexander. 

"Very  irregular,"  said  the  father.  "You  think  of 
no  one  but  yourself" 

"1  do  not  see  that  I  have  much  to  gain  in  bringing 
back  my  elder  brother,"  returned  Alexander,  shrewdly. 

The  answer  pleased  the  old  man ;  he  smiled.  "Well, 
well,  I  will  go  into  this  after  breakfast,"  said  he. 

"I'm  sorry  about  the  table,"  said  the  son. 

"The  table  is  a  small  matter;  I  think  nothing  of  that," 
said  the  father. 

"It's  another  example,"  continued  the  son,  "of  the 
awkwardness  of  a  man  having  no  money  of  his  own. 
If  I  had  a  proper  allowance,  like  other  fellows  of  my 
age,  this  would  have  been  quite  unnecessary." 

"A  proper  allowance!"  repeated  his  father,  in  tones 
of  blighting  sarcasm,  for  the  expression  was  not  new  to 
him.  "  I  have  never  grudged  you  money  for  any  pro- 
per purpose." 

396 


NICHOLSON  ACCEPTS  THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  AN  ALLOWANCE 

**No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  Alexander,  "but  then 
you  see  you  ar'n't  always  on  the  spot  to  have  the  thing 
explained  to  you.     Last  night  for  instance " 

''You  could  have  wakened  me  last  night,"  interrupt- 
ed his  father. 

"Was  it  not  some  similar  affair  that  first  got  John 
into  a  mess?"  asked  the  son,  skillfully  evading  the 
point. 

But  the  father  was  not  less  adroit.  "And  pray,  sir, 
how  did  you  come  and  go  out  of  the  house  ?  "  he  asked. 

"I  forgot  to  lock  the  door,  it  seems,"  replied  Alex- 
ander. 

"I  have  had  cause  to  complain  of  that  too  often," 
said  Mr.  Nicholson.  "But  still  I  do  not  understand. 
Did  you  keep  the  servants  up  ?  " 

"  I  propose  to  go  into  all  that  at  length  after  breakfast, " 
returned  Alexander.  "There  is  the  half  hour  going;  we 
must  not  keep  Miss  Mackenzie  waiting." 

And  greatly  daring,  he  opened  the  door. 

Even  Alexander,  who,  it  must  have  been  perceived, 
was  on  terms  of  comparative  freedom  with  his  parent; 
even  Alexander  had  never  before  dared  to  cut  short  an 
interview  in  this  high-handed  fashion.  But  the  truth  is 
the  very  mass  of  his  son's  delinquencies  daunted  the  old 
gentleman.  He  was  like  the  man  with  the  cart  of  ap- 
ples—  this  was  beyond  him!  That  Alexander  should 
have  spoiled  his  table,  taken  his  money,  stayed  out  all 
night,  and  then  coolly  acknowledged  all,  was  some- 
thing undreamed  of  in  the  Nicholsonian  philosophy,  and 
transcended  comment.  The  return  of  the  change,  which 
the  old  gentleman  still  carried  in  his  hand,  had  been  a 
feature  of  imposing  impudence;  it  had  dealt  him  a  stag- 

^97 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

gering  blow.  Then  there  was  the  reference  to  John's 
original  flight  —  a  subject  which  he  always  kept  reso- 
lutely curtained  in  his  own  mind ;  for  he  was  a  man 
who  loved  to  have  made  no  mistakes,  and  when  he 
feared  he  might  have  made  one  kept  the  papers  sealed. 
In  view  of  all  these  surprises  and  reminders,  and  of  his 
son's  composed  and  masterful  demeanour,  there  began 
to  creep  on  Mr.  Nicholson  a  sickly  misgiving.  He 
seemed  beyond  his  depth;  if  he  did  or  said  anything, 
he  might  come  to  regret  it.  The  young  man,  besides, 
as  he  had  pointed  out  himself,  was  playing  a  generous 
part.  And  if  wrong  had  been  done  —  and  done  to  one 
who  was,  after,  and  in  spite  of,  all,  a  Nicholson  —  it 
should  certainly  be  righted. 

All  things  considered,  monstrous  as  it  was  to  be  cut 
short  in  his  inquiries,  the  old  gentleman  submitted, 
pocketed  the  change,  and  followed  his  son  into  the  din- 
ing-room. During  these  few  steps  he  once  more  men- 
tally revolted,  and  once  more,  and  this  time  finally,  laid 
down  his  arms:  a  still,  small  voice  in  his  bosom  having 
informed  him  authentically  of  a  piece  of  news ;  that  he 
was  afraid  of  Alexander.  The  strange  thing  was  that  he 
was  pleased  to  be  afraid  of  him.  He  was  proud  of  his 
son ;  he  might  be  proud  of  him ;  the  boy  had  character 
and  grit,  and  knew  what  he  was  doing. 

These  were  his  reflections  as  he  turned  the  corner  of 
the  dining-room  door.  Miss  Mackenzie  was  in  the 
place  of  honor,  conjuring  with  a  tea-pot  and  a  cozy; 
and,  behold !  there  was  another  person  present,  a  large, 
portly,  whiskered  man  of  a  very  comfortable  and  re- 
spectable air,  who  now  rose  from  his  seat  and  camo 
forward,  holding  out  his  hand. 

398 


NICHOLSON  ACCEPTS  THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  AN  ALLOWANCE 

"Good-morning,  father,"  said  he. 

Of  the  contention  of  feeling  that  ran  high  in  Mr.  Nich- 
olson's starched  bosom,  no  outward  sign  was  visible; 
nor  did  he  delay  long  to  make  a  choice  of  conduct.  Yet 
in  that  interval  he  had  reviewed  a  great  field  of  possi- 
bilities both  past  and  future;  whether  it  was  possible 
he  had  not  been  perfectly  wise  in  his  treatment  of 
John;  whether  it  was  possible  that  John  was  innocent; 
whether,  if  he  turned  John  out  a  second  time,  as  his 
outraged  authority  suggested,  it  was  possible  to  avoid 
a  scandal;  and  whether,  if  he  went  to  that  extremity, 
it  was  possible  that  Alexander  might  rebel. 

*'  Hum! "  said  Mr.  Nicholson,  and  put  his  hand,  limp 
and  dead,  into  John's. 

And  then,  in  an  embarrassed  silence,  all  took  their 
places;  and  even  the  paper  —  from  which  it  was  the  old 
gentleman's  habit  to  suck  mortification  daily,  as  he 
marked  the  decline  of  our  institutions  —  even  the  paper 
lay  furled  by  his  side. 

But  presently  Flora  came  to  the  rescue.  She  slid  into 
the  silence  with  a  technicality,  asking  if  John  still  took 
his  old  inordinate  amount  of  sugar.  Thence  it  was  but 
a  step  to  the  burning  question  of  the  day ;  and  in  tones 
a  little  shaken,  she  commented  on  the  interval  since  she 
had  last  made  tea  for  the  prodigal,  and  congratulated 
him  on  his  return.  And  then  addressing  Mr.  Nicholson, 
she  congratulated  him  also  in  a  manner  that  defied  his  ill- 
humour;  and  from  that  launched  into  the  tale  of  John's 
misadventures,  not  without  some  suitable  suppressions. 

Gradually  Alexander  joined;  between  them,  whether 
he  would  or  no,  they  forced  a  word  or  two  from  John ; 
and  these  fell  so  tremulously,  and  spoke  so  eloquently 

399 


THE  MISADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  NICHOLSON 

of  a  mind  oppressed  with  dread,  that  Mr.  Nicholson  re- 
lented. At  length  even  he  contributed  a  question :  and 
before  the  meal  was  at  an  end  all  four  were  talking  even 
freely. 

Prayers  followed,  with  the  servants  gaping  at  this 
new-comer  whom  no  one  had  admitted;  and  after  pray- 
ers there  came  that  moment  on  the  clock  which  was  the 
signal  for  Mr.  Nicholson's  departure. 

"John,"  said  he,  ''of  course  you  will  stay  here.  Be 
very  careful  not  to  excite  Maria,  if  Miss  Mackenzie  thinks 
it  desirable  that  you  should  see  her.  Alexander,  I  wish 
to  speak  with  you  alone."  And  then,  when  they  were 
both  in  the  back-room:  *' You  need  not  come  to  the 
office  to-day,"  said  he;  **you  can  stay  and  amuse  your 
brother,  and  I  think  it  would  be  respectful  to  call  on 
Uncle  Greig.  And  by  the  bye  "  (this  spoken  with  a 
certain  —  dare  we  say.?  —  bashfulness),  "I  agree  to 
concede  the  principle  of  an  allowance;  and  I  will  con- 
sult with  Doctor  Durie,  who  is  quite  a  man  of  the 
world  and  has  sons  of  his  own,  as  to  the  amount.  And, 
my  fine  fellow,  you  may  consider  yourself  in  luck! "  he 
added,  with  a  smile. 

''Thank  you,"  said  Alexander. 

Before  noon  a  detective  had  restored  to  John  his 
money,  and  brought  news,  sad  enough  in  truth,  but 
perhaps  the  least  sad  possible.  Alan  had  been  found  in 
his  own  house  in  Regent's  Terrace,  under  care  of  the 
terrified  butler.  He  was  quite  mad,  and  instead  of  go- 
ing to  prison,  had  gone  to  Morningside  Asylum.  The 
murdered  man,  it  appeared,  was  an  evicted  tenant  who 
had  for  nearly  a  year  pursued  his  late  landlord  with 

400 


NICHOLSON  ACCEPTS  THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  AN  ALLOWANCE 

threats  and  insults ;  and  beyond  this,  the  cause  and  de- 
tails of  the  tragedy  were  lost. 

When  Mr.  Nicholson  returned  from  dinner  they  were 
able  to  put  a  dispatch  into  his  hands:  ''John  V.  Nichol- 
son, Randolph  Crescent,  Edinburgh. —  Kirkham  has 
disappeared;  police  looking  for  him.  All  understood. 
Keep  mind  quite  easy. — Austin."  Having  had  this  ex- 
plained to  him,  the  old  gentleman  took  down  the  cellar 
key  and  departed  for  two  bottles  of  the  1820  port. 
Uncle  Greig  dined  there  that  day,  and  Cousin  Robina, 
and,  by  an  odd  chance,  Mr.  Macewen;  and  the  presence 
of  these  strangers  relieved  what  might  have  been  other- 
wise a  somewhat  strained  relation.  Ere  they  departed, 
the  family  was  welded  once  more  into  a  fair  semblance 
of  unity. 

In  the  end  of  April  John  led  Flora  —  or,  as  more  de- 
scriptive. Flora  led  John  —  to  the  altar,  if  altar  that  may  be 
called  which  was  indeed  the  drawing-room  mantel-piece 
in  Mr.  Nicholson's  house,  with  the  Reverend  Dr.  Durie 
posted  on  the  hearth-rug  in  the  guise  of  Hymen's  priest 

The  last  I  saw  of  them,  on  a  recent  visit  to  the  north, 
was  at  a  dinner-party  in  the  house  of  my  old  friend 
Gellatly  Macbride;  and  after  we  had,  in  classic  phrase, 
"rejoined  the  ladies,"  1  had  an  opportunity  to  over- 
hear Flora  conversing  with  another  married  woman  on 
the  much  canvassed  matter  of  a  husband's  tobacco. 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  she;  "I  only  allow  Mr.  Nicholson 
four  cigars  a  day.  Three  he  smokes  at  fixed  times  — 
after  a  meal,  you  know,  my  dear;  and  the  fourth  he  can 
take  when  he  likes  with  any  friend." 

"  Bravo!  "  thought  I  to  myself;  "  this  is  the  wife  for 
my  friend  John!" 

401 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

EVERY  night  in  the  year,  four  of  us  sat  in  the  small 
parlour  of  the  George  at  Debenham — the  undertaker, 
and  the  landlord,  and  Fettes,  and  myself.  Sometimes 
there  would  be  more;  but  blow  high,  blow  low,  come 
rain  or  snow  or  frost,  we  four  would  be  each  planted 
in  his  own  particular  arm-chair.  Fettes  was  an  old 
drunken  Scotchman,  a  man  of  education  obviously,  and 
a  man  of  some  property,  since  he  lived  in  idleness.  He 
had  come  to  Debenham  years  ago,  while  still  young,  and 
by  a  mere  continuance  of  living  had  grown  to  be  an 
adopted  townsman.  His  blue  camlet  cloak  was  a  local 
antiquity,  like  the  church-spire.  His  place  in  the  par- 
lour at  the  George,  his  absence  from  church,  his  old, 
crapulous,  disreputable  vices,  were  all  things  of  course 
in  Debenham.  He  had  some  vague  Radical  opinions 
and  some  fleeting  infidelities,  which  he  would  now  and 
again  set  forth  and  emphasise  with  tottering  slaps  upon 
the  table.  He  drank  rum  —  five  glasses  regularly  every 
evening;  and  for  the  greater  portion  of  his  nightly  visit 
to  the  George  sat,  with  his  glass  in  his  right  hand,  in  a 
state  of  melancholy  alcoholic  saturation.  We  called 
him  the  Doctor,  for  he  was  supposed  to  have  some 
special  knowledge  of  medicine,  and  had  been  known, 

405 


THE   BODY-SNATCHER 

Upon  a  pinch,  to  set  a  fracture  or  reduce  a  dislocation ; 
but  beyond  these  slight  particulars,  we  had  no  know- 
ledge of  his  character  and  antecedents. 

One  dark  winter  night — it  had  struck  nine  some  time 
before  the  landlord  joined  us — there  was  a  sick  man  in 
the  George,  a  great  neighbouring  proprietor  suddenly 
struck  down  with  apoplexy  on  his  way  to  Parliament; 
and  the  great  man's  still  greater  London  doctor  had  been 
telegraphed  to  his  bedside.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
such  a  thing  had  happened  in  Debenham,  for  the  rail- 
way was  but  newly  open,  and  we  were  all  proportion- 
ately moved  by  the  occurrence. 

"He's  come,"  said  the  landlord,  after  he  had  filled 
and  lighted  his  pipe. 

"  He .? "  said  I.     *'  Who  ?—  not  the  doctor  ? " 

**  Himself,"  replied  our  host. 

*  *  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"Dr.  Macfarlane,"  said  the  landlord. 

Fettes  was  far  through  his  third  tumbler,  stupidly 
fuddled,  now  nodding  over,  now  staring  mazily  around 
him;  but  at  the  last  word  he  seemed  to  awaken,  and 
repeated  the  name  "Macfarlane"  twice,  quietly  enough 
the  first  time,  but  with  sudden  emotion  at  the  second. 

"Yes,"  said  the  landlord,  "that's  his  name.  Doctor 
Wolfe  Macfarlane." 

Fettes  became  instantly  sober;  his  eyes  awoke,  his 
voice  became  clear,  loud,  and  steady,  his  language  for- 
cible and  earnest.  We  were  all  startled  by  the  trans- 
formation, as  if  a  man  had  risen  from  the  dead. 

"1  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "1  am  afraid  1  have 
not  been  paying  much  attention  to  your  talk.  Who  is 
this  Wolfe  Macfarlane  ?  "    And  then,  when  he  had  heard 

406 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

the  landlord  out,  "  It  cannot  be,  it  cannot  be,"  he  added; 
**and  yet  I  would  like  well  to  see  him  face  to  face." 

** Do  you  know  him,  Doctor?"  asked  the  undertaker, 
with  a  gasp. 

"  God  forbid!  "  was  the  reply.  *' And  yet  the  name 
is  a  strange  one ;  it  were  too  much  to  fancy  two.  Tell 
me,  landlord,  is  he  old?" 

"Well,"  said  the  host,  *'he's  not  a  young  man,  to 
be  sure,  and  his  hair  is  white;  but  he  looks  younger 
than  you." 

"He  is  older,  though;  years  older.  But,"  with  a 
slap  upon  the  table,  "it's  the  rum  you  see  in  my  face 
—  rum  and  sin.  This  man,  perhaps,  may  have  an  easy 
conscience  and  a  good  digestion.  Conscience!  Hear 
me  speak.  You  would  think  I  was  some  good,  old, 
decent  Christian,  would  you  not?  But  no,  not  1;  I 
never  canted.  Voltaire  might  have  canted  if  he'd  stood 
in  my  shoes;  but  the  brains" — with  a  rattling  fillip  on 
his  bald  head —  "the  brains  were  clear  and  active,  and 
I  saw  and  made  no  deductions." 

"If  you  know  this  doctor,"  I  ventured  to  re- 
mark, after  a  somewhat  awful  pause,  "I  should 
gather  that  you  do  not  share  the  landlord's  good 
opinion." 

Fettes  paid  no  regard  to  me. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  sudden  decision,  "I  must  see 
him  face  to  face." 

There  was  another  pause,  and  then  a  door  was  closed 
rather  sharply  on  the  first  floor,  and  a  step  was  heard 
upon  the  stair. 

"That's  the  doctor,"  cried  the  landlord.  **Look 
sharp,  and  you  can  catch  him." 

407 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

It  was  but  two  steps  from  the  small  parlour  to  the 
door  of  the  old  George  Inn ;  the  wide  oak  staircase 
landed  almost  in  the  street;  there  was  room  for  a  Tur- 
key rug  and  nothing  more  between  the  threshold  and 
the  last  round  of  the  descent;  but  this  little  space  was 
every  evening  brilliantly  lit  up,  not  only  by  the  light 
upon  the  stair  and  the  great  signal-lamp  below  the  sign, 
but  by  the  warm  radiance  of  the  barroom  window.  The 
George  thus  brightly  advertised  itself  to  passers-by  in 
the  cold  street.  Fettes  walked  steadily  to  the  spot,  and 
we,  who  were  hanging  behind,  beheld  the  two  men 
meet,  as  one  of  them  had  phrased  it,  face  to  face.  Dr. 
Macfarlane  was  alert  and  vigorous.  His  white  hair  set 
off  his  pale  and  placid,  although  energetic,  countenance. 
He  was  richly  dressed  in  the  finest  of  broadcloth  and 
the  whitest  of  linen,  with  a  great  gold  watchchain,  and 
studs  and  spectacles  of  the  same  precious  material.  He 
wore  a  broad-folded  tie,  white  and  speckled  with  lilac, 
and  he  carried  on  his  arm  a  comfortable  driving-coat  of 
fur.  There  was  no  doubt  but  he  became  his  years, 
breathing,  as  he  did,  of  wealth  and  consideration ;  and 
it  was  a  surprising  constrast  to  see  our  parlour  sot — bald, 
dirty,  pimpled,  and  robed  in  his  old  camlet  cloak — con- 
front him  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs. 

**  Macfarlane! "  he  said  somewhat  loudly,  more  like 
a  herald  than  a  friend. 

The  great  doctor  pulled  up  short  on  the  fourth  step, 
as  though  the  familiarity  of  the  address  surprised  and 
somewhat  shocked  his  dignity. 

** Toddy  Macfarlane!"  repeated  Fettes. 

The  London  man  almost  staggered.  He  stared  for 
the  swiftest  of  seconds  at  the  man  before  him,  glanced 

408 


THE   BODY-SNATCHER 

behind  him  with  a  sort  of  scare,  and  then  in  a  startled 
whisper,  "  Fettes !  "  he  said,  "you!" 

'  'Ay, "  said  the  other,  *  *  me !  Did  you  think  I  was  dead 
too  ?    We  are  not  so  easy  shut  of  our  acquaintance." 

' '  Hush,  hush ! "  exclaimed  the  doctor.  *  *  Hush,  hush ! 
this  meeting  is  so  unexpected  —  I  can  see  you  are  un- 
manned. I  hardly  knew  you,  I  confess,  at  first;  but  I 
am  overjoyed  —  overjoyed  to  have  this  opportunity. 
For  the  present  it  must  be  how-d'ye-do  and  good-by  in 
one,  for  my  fly  is  waiting,  and  I  must  not  fail  the  train ; 
but  you  shall  —  let  me  see — yes  —  you  shall  give  me 
your  address,  and  you  can  count  on  early  news  of  me. 
We  must  do  something  for  you,  Fettes.  I  fear  you  are 
out  at  elbows ;  but  we  must  see  to  that  for  auld  lang 
syne,  as  once  we  sang  at  suppers." 

"Money!"  cried  Fettes;  "money  from  you!  The 
money  that  I  had  from  you  is  lying  where  I  cast  it  in 
the  rain." 

Dr.  Macfarlane  had  talked  himself  into  some  measure 
of  superiority  and  confidence,  but  the  uncommon  en- 
ergy of  this  refusal  cast  him  back  into  his  first  confusion. 

A  horrible,  ugly  look  came  and  went  across  his  al- 
most venerable  countenance.  "My  dear  fellow,"  he 
said,  "be  it  as  you  please;  my  last  thought  is  to  offend 
you.  I  would  intrude  on  none.  I  will  leave  you  my 
address,  however " 

"  I  do  not  wish  it —  I  do  not  wish  to  know  the  roof 
that  shelters  you,"  interrupted  the  other.  "I  heard 
your  name;  I  feared  it  might  be  you;  I  wished  to  know 
if,  after  all,  there  were  a  God ;  I  know  now  that  there 
is  none.     Begone!" 

He  still  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  rug,  between  the 
409 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

Stair  and  doorway;  and  the  great  London  physician,  in 
order  to  escape,  would  be  forced  to  step  to  one  side. 
It  was  plain  that  he  hesitated  before  the  thought  of  this 
humiliation.  White  as  he  was,  there  was  a  dangerous 
glitter  in  his  spectacles ;  but  while  he  still  paused  uncer- 
tain, he  became  aware  that  the  driver  of  his  fly  was 
peering  in  from  the  street  at  this  unusual  scene  and 
caught  a  glimpse  at  the  same  time  of  our  little  body 
from  the  parlour,  huddled  by  the  corner  of  the  bar.  The 
presence  of  so  many  witnesses  decided  him  at  once  to 
flee.  He  crouched  together,  brushing  on  the  wainscot, 
and  made  a  dart  like  a  serpent,  striking  for  the  door. 
But  his  tribulation  was  not  yet  entirely  at  an  end,  for 
even  as  he  was  passing  Fettes  clutched  him  by  the  arm 
and  these  words  came  in  a  whisper,  and  yet  painfully 
distinct, "  Have  you  seen  it  again  ?  " 

The  great  rich  London  doctor  cried  out  aloud  with  a 
sharp,  throttling  cry ;  he  dashed  his  questioner  across 
the  open  space,  and,  with  his  hands  over  his  head,  fled 
out  of  the  door  like  a  detected  thief.  Before  it  had  oc- 
curred to  one  of  us  to  make  a  movement  the  fly  was 
already  rattling  toward  the  station.  The  scene  was  over 
like  a  dream,  but  the  dream  had  left  proofs  and  traces 
of  its  passage.  Next  day  the  servant  found  the  fine 
gold  spectacles  broken  on  the  threshold,  and  that  very 
night  we  were  all  standing  breathless  by  the  barroom 
window,  and  Fettes  at  our  side,  sober,  pale  and  resolute 
in  look. 

"God  protect  us,  Mr.  Fettes!"  said  the  landlord, 
coming  first  into  possession  of  his  customary  senses. 
''What  in  the  universe  is  all  this  ?  These  are  strange 
things  you  have  been  saying." 

410 


THE   BODY-SNATCHER 

Fettes  turned  toward  us;  he  looked  us  each  in  suc- 
cession in  the  face.  *  *  See  if  you  can  hold  your  tongues, " 
said  he.  "That  man  Macfarlane  is  not  safe  to  cross; 
those  that  have  done  so  already  have  repented  it  too 
late." 

And  then,  without  so  much  as  finishing  his  third 
glass,  far  less  waiting  for  the  other  two,  he  bade  us 
good-by  and  went  forth,  under  the  lamp  of  the  hotel, 
into  the  black  night. 

We  three  turned  to  our  places  in  the  parlour,  with  the 
big  red  fire  and  four  clear  candles ;  and  as  we  recapitu- 
lated what  had  passed  the  first  chill  of  our  surprise  soon 
changed  into  a  glow  of  curiosity.  We  sat  late;  it  was 
the  latest  session  I  have  known  in  the  old  George.  Each 
man,  before  we  parted,  had  his  theory  that  he  was 
bound  to  prove;  and  none  of  us  had  any  nearer  business 
in  this  world  than  to  track  out  the  past  of  our  con- 
demned companion,  and  surprise  the  secret  that  he 
shared  with  the  great  London  doctor.  It  is  no  great 
boast,  but  1  believe  I  was  a  better  hand  at  worming  out 
a  story  than  either  of  my  fellows  at  the  George;  and 
perhaps  there  is  now  no  other  man  alive  who  could 
narrate  to  you  the  following  foul  and  unnatural  events. 

In  his  young  days  Fettes  studied  medicine  in  the 
schools  of  Edinburgh.  He  had  talent  of  a  kind,  the 
talent  that  picks  up  swiftly  what  it  hears  and  readily  re- 
tails it  for  its  own.  He  worked  little  at  home ;  but  he 
was  civil,  attentive,  and  intelligent  in  the  presence  of 
his  masters.  They  soon  picked  him  out  as  a  lad  who 
listened  closely  and  remembered  well;  nay,  strange  as 
it  seemed  to  me  when  I  first  heard  it,  he  was  in  those 
days  well  favoured,  and  pleased  by  his  exterior.     There 

411 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

was,  at  that  period,  a  certain  extramural  teacher  of  anat- 
omy, whom  I  shall  here  designate  by  the  letter  K.  His 
name  was  subsequently  too  well  known.  The  man 
who  bore  it  skulked  through  the  streets  of  Edinburgh 
in  disguise,  while  the  mob  that  applauded  at  the  execu- 
tion of  Burke  called  loudly  for  the  blood  of  his  em- 
ployer.   But  Mr.  K was  then  at  the  top  of  his  vogue ; 

he  enjoyed  a  popularity  due  partly  to  his  own  talent  and 
address,  partly  to  the  incapacity  of  his  rival,  the  univer- 
sity professor.  The  students,  at  least,  swore  by  his 
name,  and  Fettes  believed  himself,  and  was  believed  by 
others,  to  have  laid  the  foundations  of  success  when  he 
had  acquired  the  favour  of  this  meteorically  famous 
man.  Mr.  K was  a  bon  vivant  as  well  as  an  ac- 
complished teacher;  he  liked  a  sly  illusion  no  less 
than  a  careful  preparation.  In  both  capacities  Fettes 
enjoyed  and  deserved  his  notice,  and  by  the  second 
year  of  his  attendance  he  held  the  half-regular  position 
of  second  demonstrator  or  sub-assistant  in  his  class. 

In  this  capacity,  the  charge  of  the  theatre  and  lecture- 
room  devolved  in  particular  upon  his  shoulders.  He 
had  to  answer  for  the  cleanliness  of  the  premises  and  the 
conduct  of  the  other  students,  and  it  was  a  part  of  his 
duty  to  supply,  receive,  and  divide  the  various  subjects. 
It  was  with  a  view  to  this  last  —  at  that  time  very  deli- 
cate—  affair  that  he  was  lodged  by  Mr.  K in  the 

same  wynd,  and  at  last  in  the  same  building,  with  the 
dissecting-rooms.  Here,  after  a  night  of  turbulent  plea- 
sures, his  hand  still  tottering,  his  sight  still  misty  and 
confused,  he  would  be  called  out  of  bed  in  the  black 
hours  before  the  winter  dawn  by  the  unclean  and  des- 
perate interlopers  who  supplied  the  table.     He  would 

41a 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

open  the  door  to  these  men,  since  infamous  throughout 
the  land.  He  would  help  them  with  their  tragic  bur- 
den, pay  them  their  sordid  price,  and  remain  alone, 
when  they  were  gone,  with  the  unfriendly  relics  of  hu- 
manity. From  such  a  scene  he  would  return  to  snatch 
another  hour  or  two  of  slumber,  to  repair  the  abuses  of 
the  night,  and  refresh  himself  for  the  labours  of  the  day. 

Few  lads  could  have  been  more  insensible  to  the  im- 
pressions of  a  life  thus  passed  among  the  ensigns  of 
mortality.  His  mind  was  closed  against  all  general 
considerations.  He  was  incapable  of  interest  in  the  fate 
and  fortunes  of  another,  the  slave  of  his  own  desires 
and  low  ambitions.  Cold,  light,  and  selfish  in  the  last 
resort,  he  had  that  modicum  of  prudence,  miscalled 
morality,  which  keeps  a  man  from  inconvenient  drunk- 
enness or  punishable  theft.  He  coveted,  besides,  a  mea- 
sure of  consideration  from  his  masters  and  his  fellow- 
pupils,  and  he  had  no  desire  to  fail  conspicuously  in  the 
external  parts  of  life.  Thus  he  made  it  his  pleasure  to 
gain  some  distinction  in  his  studies,  and  day  after  day 
rendered  unimpeachable  eye-service  to  his  employer, 
Mr.  K .  For  his  day  of  work  he  indemnified  him- 
self by  nights  of  roaring,  blackguardly  enjoyment;  and 
when  that  balance  had  been  struck,  the  organ  that  he 
called  his  conscience  declared  itself  content. 

The  supply  of  subjects  was  a  continual  trouble  to  him 
as  well  as  to  his  master.  In  that  large  and  busy  class, 
the  raw  material  of  the  anatomists  kept  perpetually  run- 
ning out;  and  the  business  thus  rendered  necessary  was 
not  only  unpleasant  in  itself,  but  threatened  dangerous 
consequences  to  all  who  were  concerned.     It  was  the 

policy  of  Mr.  K to  ask  no  questions  in  his  dealings 

4«3 


THE   BODY-SNATCHER 

with  the  trade.  ''  They  bring  the  body,  and  we  pay  the 
price,"  he  used  to  say,  dwelling  on  the  alliteration  — 
''  quid  pro  quo,"  And,  again,  and  somewhat  profanely, 
*'Ask  no  questions,"  he  would  tell  his  assistants,  "for 
conscience  sake."  There  was  no  understanding  that 
the  subjects  were  provided  by  the  crime  of  murder.  Had 
that  idea  been  broached  to  him  in  words,  he  would  have 
recoiled  in  horror;  but  the  lightness  of  his  speech  upon 
so  grave  a  matter  was,  in  itself,  an  offence  against  good 
manners,  and  a  temptation  to  the  men  with  whom  he 
dealt.  Fettes,  for  instance,  had  often  remarked  to  him- 
self upon  the  singular  freshness  of  the  bodies.  He  had 
been  struck  again  and  again  by  the  hang-dog,  abomi- 
nable looks  of  the  ruffians  who  came  to  him  before  the 
dawn ;  and  putting  things  together  clearly  in  his  private 
thoughts,  he  perhaps  attributed  a  meaning  too  immoral 
and  too  categorical  to  the  unguarded  counsels  of  his 
master.  He  understood  his  duty,  in  short,  to  have  three 
branches :  to  take  what  was  brought,  to  pay  the  price, 
and  to  avert  the  eye  from  any  evidence  of  crime. 

One  November  morning  this  policy  of  silence  was 
put  sharply  to  the  test.  He  had  been  awake  all  night 
with  a  racking  toothache  —  pacing  his  room  like  a  caged 
beast  or  throwing  himself  in  fury  on  his  bed  —  and  had 
fallen  at  last  into  that  profound,  uneasy  slumber  that  so 
often  follows  on  a  night  of  pain,  when  he  was  awakened 
by  the  third  or  fourth  angry  repetition  of  the  concerted 
signal.  There  was  a  thin,  bright  moonshine;  it  was 
bitter  cold,  windy,  and  frosty ;  the  town  had  not  yet 
awakened,  but  an  indefinable  stir  already  preluded  the 
noise  and  business  of  the  day.  The  ghouls  had  come 
later  than  usual,  and  they  seemed  more  than  usually 

414 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

eager  to  be  gone.  Fettes,  sick  with  sleep,  lighted  them 
upstairs.  He  heard  their  grumbling  Irish  voices  through 
a  dream ;  and  as  they  stripped  the  sack  from  their  sad 
merchandise  he  leaned  dozing,  with  his  shoulder 
propped  against  the  wall;  he  had  to  shake  himself  to 
find  the  men  their  money.  As  he  did  so  his  eyes  lighted 
on  the  dead  face.  He  started ;  he  took  two  steps  nearer, 
with  the  candle  raised. 

**God  Almighty!"  he  cried.  '*That  is  Jane  Gal- 
braith!" 

The  men  answered  nothing,  but  they  shuffled  nearer 
the  door. 

"I  know  her,  I  tell  you,"  he  continued.  "She  was 
alive  and  hearty  yesterday.  It's  impossible  she  can  be 
dead;  it's  impossible  you  should  have  got  this  body 
fairly." 

**Sure,  sir,  you're  mistaken  entirely,"  said  one  of  the 
men. 

But  the  other  looked  Fettes  darkly  in  the  eyes,  and 
demanded  the  money  on  the  spot. 

It  was  impossible  to  misconceive  the  threat  or  to  ex- 
aggerate the  danger.  The  lad's  heart  failed  him.  He 
stammered  some  excuses,  counted  out  the  sum,  and 
saw  his  hateful  visitors  depart.  No  sooner  were  they 
gone  than  he  hastened  to  confirm  his  doubts.  By  a 
dozen  unquestionable  marks  he  identified  the  girl  he  had 
jested  with  the  day  before.  He  saw,  with  horror,  marks 
upon  her  body  that  might  well  betoken  violence.  A 
panic  seized  him,  and  he  took  refuge  in  his  room. 
There  he  reflected  at  length  over  the  discovery  that  he 

had  made ;  considered  soberly  the  bearing  of  Mr.  K 's 

instructions  and  the  danger  to  himself  of  interference  in 

4>5 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

SO  serious  a  business,  and  at  last,  in  sore  perplexity,  de- 
termined to  wait  for  the  advice  of  his  immediate  superior, 
the  class  assistant. 

This  was  a  young  doctor,  Wolfe  Macfarlane,  a  high 
favourite  among  all  the  reckless  students,  clever,  dissi- 
pated, and  unscrupulous  to  the  last  degree.  He  had 
travelled  and  studied  abroad.  His  manners  were  agree- 
able and  a  little  forward.  He  was  an  authority  on  the 
stage,  skilful  on  the  ice  or  the  links  with  skate  or  golf- 
club;  he  dressed  with  nice  audacity,  and,  to  put  the 
finishing  touch  upon  his  glory,  he  kept  a  gig  and  a 
strong  trotting-horse.  With  Fettes  he  was  on  terms  of 
intimacy ;  indeed,  their  relative  positions  called  for  some 
community  of  life;  and  when  subjects  were  scarce  the 
pair  would  drive  far  into  the  country  in  Macfarlane's  gig, 
visit  and  desecrate  some  lonely  graveyard,  and  return 
before  dawn  with  their  booty  to  the  door  of  the  dissect- 
ing-room. 

On  that  particular  morning  Macfarlane  arrived  some- 
what earlier  than  his  wont.  Fettes  heard  him,  and  met 
him  on  the  stairs,  told  him  his  story,  and  showed  him 
the  cause  of  his  alarm.  Macfarlane  examined  the  marks 
on  her  body. 

**  Yes,"  he  said  with  a  nod,  'Mt  looks  fishy." 

*'Well,  what  should  I  do?"  asked  Fettes. 

**Do?"  repeated  the  other.  ''Do  you  want  to  do 
anything?    Least  said  soonest  mended,  I  should  say." 

"Some  one  else  might  recognise  her,"  objected 
Fettes.     '*  She  was  as  well  known  as  the  Castle  Rock." 

"We'll  hope  not,"  said  Macfarlane,  "and  if  anybody 
does— well,  you  didn't,  don't  you  see,  and  there's  an 
end.     The  fact  is,  this  has  been  going  on  too  long. 

416 


THE   BODY-SNATCHER 

Stir  up  the  mud,  and  you'll  get  K into  the  most 

unholy  trouble;  you'll  be  in  a  shocking  box  yourself. 
So  will  1,  if  you  come  to  that.  I  should  like  to  know 
how  any  one  of  us  would  look,  or  what  the  devil  we 
should  have  to  say  for  ourselves,  in  any  Christian  wit- 
ness-box. For  me,  you  know  there's  one  thing  cer- 
tain —  that,  practically  speaking,  all  our  subjects  have 
been  murdered." 

''Macfarlane!"  cried  Fettes. 

*  *  Come  now ! "  sneered  the  other.  "  As  if  you  hadn't 
suspected  it  yourself ! " 

"Suspecting  is  one  thing " 

*'  And  proof  another.  Yes,  I  know;  and  I'm  as  sorry 
as  you  are  this  should  have  come  here,"  tapping  the 
body  with  his  cane.  ''The  next  best  thing  for  me 
is  not  to  recognise  it;  and,"  he  added  coolly,  "I  don't. 
You  may,  if  you  please.  I  don't  dictate,  but  I  think  a 
man  of  the  world  would  do  as  I  do;  and  I  may  add,  I 

fancy  that  is  what  K would  look  for  at  our  hands. 

The  question  is.  Why  did  he  choose  us  two  for  his 
assistants  ?  And  I  answer,  because  he  didn't  want  old 
wives." 

This  was  the  tone  of  all  others  to  affect  the  mind  of 
a  lad  like  Fettes.  He  agreed  to  imitate  Macfarlane.  The 
body  of  the  unfortunate  girl  was  duly  dissected,  and  no 
one  remarked  or  appeared  to  recognise  her. 

One  afternoon,  when  his  day's  work  was  over,  Fettes 
dropped  into  a  popular  tavern  and  found  Macfarlane 
sitting  with  a  stranger.  This  was  a  small  man,  very 
pale  and  dark,  with  coal-black  eyes.  The  cut  of  his 
features  gave  a  promise  of  intellect  and  refinement  which 
was  but  feebly  realised  in  his  manners,  for  he  proved, 

417 


THE   BODY-SNATCHER 

upon  a  nearer  acquaintance,  coarse,  vulgar,  and  stupid. 
He  exercised,  however,  a  very  remarkable  control  over 
Macfarlane;  issued  orders  like  the  Great  Bashaw;  be- 
came inflamed  at  the  least  discussion  or  delay,  and  com- 
mented rudely  on  the  servility  with  which  he  was 
obeyed.  This  most  offensive  person  took  a  fancy  to 
Fettes  on  the  spot,  plied  him  with  drinks,  and  honoured 
him  with  unusual  confidences  on  his  past  career.  If  a 
tenth  part  of  what  he  confessed  were  true,  he  was  a 
very  loathsome  rogue;  and  the  lad's  vanity  was  tickled 
by  the  attention  of  so  experienced  a  man. 

'Tm  a  pretty  bad  fellow  myself,"  the  stranger  re- 
marked, **but  Macfarlane  is  the  boy  —  Toddy  Macfar- 
lane I  call  him.  Toddy,  order  your  friend  another  glass. " 
Or  it  might  be,  ''Toddy,  you  jump  up  and  shut  the 
door."  "Toddy  hates  me,"  he  said  again.  '*0h,  yes, 
Toddy,  you  do!" 

*'  Don't  you  call  me  that  confounded  name,"  growled 
Macfarlane. 

**Hear  him!  Did  you  ever  see  the  lads  play  knife? 
He  would  like  to  do  that  all  over  my  body,"  remarked 
the  stranger. 

**We  medicals  have  a  better  way  than  that,"  said 
Fettes.  "When  we  dislike  a  dead  friend  of  ours,  we 
dissect  him." 

Macfarlane  looked  up  sharply,  as  though  this  jest  were 
scarcely  to  his  mind. 

The  afternoon  passed.  Gray,  for  that  was  the  stran- 
ger's name,  invited  Fettes  to  join  them  at  dinner,  ordered 
a  feast  so  sumptuous  that  the  tavern  was  thrown  in 
commotion,  and  when  all  was  done  commanded  Mac- 
farlane to  settle  the  bill.     It  was  late  before  they  sepa- 

418 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

rated ;  the  man  Gray  was  incapably  drunk.  Macfarlane, 
sobered  by  his  fury,  chewed  the  cud  of  the  money  he 
had  been  forced  to  squander  and  the  slights  he  had  been 
obliged  to  swallow.  Fettes,  with  various  liquors  sing- 
ing in  his  head,  returned  home  with  devious  footsteps 
and  a  mind  entirely  in  abeyance.  Next  day  Macfarlane 
was  absent  from  the  class,  and  Fettes  smiled  to  himself 
as  he  imagined  him  still  squiring  the  intolerable  Gray 
from  tavern  to  tavern.  As  soon  as  the  hour  of  liberty 
had  struck  he  posted  from  place  to  place  in  quest  of  his 
last  night's  companions.  He  could  find  them,  however, 
nowhere ;  so  returned  early  to  his  rooms,  went  early  to 
bed,  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just. 

At  four  in  the  morning  he  was  awakened  by  the  well- 
known  signal.  Descending  to  the  door,  he  was  filled 
with  astonishment  to  find  Macfarlane  with  his  gig,  and 
in  the  gig  one  of  those  long  and  ghastly  packages  with 
which  he  was  so  well  acquainted. 

*'What?"  he  cried.  "Have  you  been  out  alone .^ 
How  did  you  manage?" 

But  Macfarlane  silenced  him  roughly,  bidding  him 
turn  to  business.  When  they  had  got  the  body  upstairs 
and  laid  it  on  the  table,  Macfarlane  made  at  first  as  if 
he  were  going  away.  Then  he  paused  and  seemed 
to  hesitate;  and  then,  ''You  had  better  look  at  the 
face,"  said  he,  in  tones  of  some  constraint.  "You  had 
better,"  he  repeated,  as  Fettes  only  stared  at  him  in 
wonder. 

"  But  where,  and  how,  and  when  did  you  come  by 
it  ?  "  cried  the  other. 

"  Look  at  the  face,"  was  the  only  answer. 

Fettes  was  staggered;  strange  doubts  assailed  him. 
419 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

He  looked  from  the  young  doctor  to  the  body,  and  then 
back  again.  At  last,  with  a  start,  he  did  as  he  was  bid- 
den. He  had  almost  expected  the  sight  that  met  his 
eyes,  and  yet  the  shock  was  cruel.  To  see,  fixed  in  the 
rigidity  of  death  and  naked  on  that  coarse  layer  of  sack- 
cloth, the  man  whom  he  had  left  well  clad  and  full  of 
meat  and  sin  upon  the  threshold  of  a  tavern,  awoke, 
even  in  the  thoughtless  Fettes,  some  of  the  terrors  of 
the  conscience.  It  was  a  cras>  tibi  which  re-echoed  in 
his  soul,  that  two  whom  he  had  known  should  have 
come  to  lie  upon  these  icy  tables.  Yet  these  were  only 
secondary  thoughts.  His  first  concern  regarded  Wolfe. 
Unprepared  for  a  challenge  so  momentous,  he  knew  not 
how  to  look  his  comrade  in  the  face.  He  durst  not 
meet  his  eye,  and  he  had  neither  words  nor  voice  at  his 
command. 

It  was  Macfarlane  himself  who  made  the  first  advance. 
He  came  up  quietly  behind  and  laid  his  hand  gently  but 
firmly  on  the  other's  shoulder. 

"  Richardson,"  said  he,  "  may  have  the  head." 

Now  Richardson  was  a  student  who  had  long  been 
anxious  for  that  portion  of  the  human  subject  to  dissect. 
There  was  no  answer,  and  the  murderer  resumed  : 
*'  Talking  of  business,  you  must  pay  me;  your  accounts, 
you  see,  must  tally." 

Fettes  found  a  voice,  the  ghost  of  his  own:  "Pay 
you !  "  he  cried.     ' '  Pay  you  for  that  ?  " 

"Why,  yes,  of  course  you  must.  By  all  means  and 
on  every  possible  account,  you  must,"  returned  the  other. 
"  I  dare  not  give  it  for  nothing,  you  dare  not  take  it  for 
nothing;  it  would  compromise  us  both.  This  is  an- 
other case  like  Jane  Galbraith's.     The  more  things  are 

420 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

wrong  the  more  we  must  act  as  if  all  were  right.  Where 
does  old  K keep  his  money?" 

"  There, "  answered  Fettes  hoarsely,  pointing  to  a  cup- 
board in  the  corner. 

''Give  me  the  key,  then,"  said  the  other,  calmly, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

There  was  an  instant's  hesitation,  and  the  die  was  cast. 
Macfarlane  could  not  suppress  a  nervous  twitch,  the  in- 
finitesimal mark  of  an  immense  relief,  as  he  felt  the  key 
between  his  fingers.  He  opened  the  cupboard,  brought 
out  pen  and  ink  and  a  paper-book  that  stood  in  one  com- 
partment, and  separated  from  the  funds  in  a  drawer  a 
sum  suitable  to  the  occasion. 

"Now,  look  here,"  he  said,  "there  is  the  payment 
made  —  first  proof  of  your  good  faith :  first  step  to  your 
security.  You  have  now  to  clinch  it  by  a  second.  Enter 
the  payment  in  your  book,  and  then  you  for  your  part 
may  defy  the  devil." 

The  next  few  seconds  were  for  Fettes  an  agony  of 
thought;  but  in  balancing  his  terrors  it  was  the  most 
immediate  that  triumphed.  Any  future  difficulty  seemed 
almost  welcome  if  he  could  avoid  a  present  quarrel  with 
Macfarlane.  He  set  down  the  candle  which  he  had  been 
carrying  all  this  time,  and  with  a  steady  hand  entered 
the  date,  the  nature,  and  the  amount  of  the  transaction. 

''And  now,"  said  Macfarlane,  "  it's  only  fair  that  you 
should  pocket  the  lucre.  I've  had  my  share  already. 
By  the  bye,  when  a  man  of  the  world  falls  into  a  bit  of 
luck,  has  a  few  shillings  extra  in  his  pocket  —  I'm 
ashamed  to  speak  of  it,  but  there's  a  rule  of  conduct  in 
the  case.  No  treating,  no  purchase  of  expensive  class- 
books,  no  squaring  of  old  debts ;  borrow,  don't  lend. " 

421 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

*'  Macfarlane,"  began  Fettes,  still  somewhat  hoarsely, 
*'  I  have  put  my  neck  in  a  halter  to  oblige  you." 

** To  oblige  me?"  cried  Wolfe.  "Oh,  come!  You 
did,  as  near  as  I  can  see  the  matter,  what  you  downright 
had  to  do  in  self-defence.  Suppose  I  got  into  trouble, 
where  would  you  be  ?  This  second  little  matter  flows 
clearly  from  the  first.  Mr.  Gray  is  the  continuation  of 
Miss  Galbraith.  You  can't  begin  and  then  stop.  If  you 
begin,  you  must  keep  on  beginning;  that's  the  truth. 
No  rest  for  the  wicked." 

A  horrible  sense  of  blackness  and  the  treachery  of  fate 
seized  hold  upon  the  soul  of  the  unhappy  student. 

**  My  God !  "  he  cried,  "but  what  have  1  done  ?  and 
when  did  I  begin  ?  To  be  made  a  class  assistant — in 
the  name  of  reason,  where's  the  harm  in  that  ?  Service 
wanted  the  position ;  Service  might  have  got  it.  Would 
be  have  been  where  /  am  now  ?  " 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Macfarlane,  "what  a  boy 
you  are!  What  harm  has  come  to  you?  What  harm 
can  come  to  you  if  you  hold  your  tongue  ?  Why, 
man,  do  you  know  what  this  life  is  ?  There  are  two 
squads  of  us  —  the  lions  and  the  lambs.  If  you're  a 
lamb,  you'll  come  to  lie  upon  these  tables  like  Gray  or 
Jane  Galbraith ;  if  you're  a  lion,  you'll  live  and  drive  a 

horse  like  me,  like  K ,  like  all  the  world  with  any 

wit  or  courage.     You're  staggered  at  the  first.     But 

look  at  K !     My  dear  fellow,  you're  clever,  you  have 

pluck.     I  like  you,  and  K likes  you.     You  were 

born  to  lead  the  hunt;  and  I  tell  you,  on  my  honour  and 
my  experience  of  life,  three  days  from  now  you'll  laugh 
at  all  these  scarecrows  like  a  high  school  boy  at  a  farce." 

And  with  that  Macfarlane  took  his  departure  and 
422 


THE   BODY-SNATCHER 

drove  off  up  the  wynd  in  his  gig  to  get  under  cover  be- 
fore daylight.  Fettes  was  thus  left  alone  with  his  re- 
grets. He  saw  the  miserable  peril  in  which  he  stood 
involved.  He  saw,  with  inexpressible  dismay,  that 
there  was  no  limit  to  his  weakness,  and  that,  from  con- 
cession to  concession,  he  had  fallen  from  the  arbiter  of 
Macfarlane's  destiny  to  his  paid  and  helpless  accom- 
plice. He  would  have  given  the  world  to  have  been  a 
little  braver  at  the  time,  but  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that 
he  might  still  be  brave.  The  secret  of  Jane  Galbraith 
and  the  cursed  entry  in  the  daybook  closed  his  mouth. 

Hours  passed;  the  class  began  to  arrive;  the  members 
of  the  unhappy  Gray  were  dealt  out  to  one  and  to  an- 
other, and  received  without  remark.  Richardson  was 
made  happy  with  the  head ;  and  before  the  hour  of  free- 
dom rang  Fettes  trembled  with  exultation  to  perceive 
how  far  they  had  already  gone  toward  safety. 

For  two  days  he  continued  to  watch,  with  increasing 
joy,  the  dreadful  process  of  disguise. 

On  the  third  day  Macfarlane  made  his  appearance. 
He  had  been  ill,  he  said ;  but  he  made  up  for  lost  time 
by  the  energy  with  which  he  directed  the  students.  To 
Richardson  in  particular  he  extended  the  most  valuable 
assistance  and  advice,  and  that  student,  encouraged  by 
the  praise  of  the  demonstrator,  burned  high  with  ambi- 
tious hopes,  and  saw  the  medal  already  in  his  grasp. 

Before  the  week  was  out  Macfarlane's  prophecy  had 
been  fulfilled.  Fettes  had  outlived  his  terrors  and  had 
forgotten  his  baseness.  He  began  to  plume  himself 
upon  his  courage,  and  had  so  arranged  the  story  in  his 
mind  that  he  could  look  back  on  these  events  with  an 
unhealthy  pride.     Of  his  accomplice  he  saw  but  little. 

423 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

They  met,  of  course,  in  the  business  of  the  class;  they 

received  their  orders  together  from  Mr.  K .    At  times 

they  had  a  word  or  two  in  private,  and  Macfarlane  was 
from  first  to  last  particularly  kind  and  jovial.  But  it 
was  plain  that  he  avoided  any  reference  to  their  common 
secret;  and  even  when  Fettes  whispered  to  him  that  he 
had  cast  in  his  lot  with  the  lions  and  foresworn  the 
lambs,  he  only  signed  to  him  smilingly  to  hold  his 
peace. 
At  length  an  occasion  arose  which  threw  the  pair 

once  more  into  a  closer  union.     Mr.  K was  again 

short  of  subjects;  pupils  were  eager,  and  it  was  a  part 
of  this  teacher's  pretensions  to  be  always  well  supplied. 
At  the  same  time  there  came  the  news  of  a  burial  in  the 
rustic  graveyard  of  Glencorse.  Time  has  little  changed 
the  place  in  question.  It  stood  then,  as  now,  upon  a 
cross  road,  out  of  call  of  human  habitations,  and  buried 
fathom  deep  in  the  foliage  of  six  cedar  trees.  The  cries 
of  the  sheep  upon  the  neighbouring  hills,  the  streamlets 
upon  either  hand,  one  loudly  singing  among  pebbles, 
the  other  dripping  furtively  from  pond  to  pond,  the  stir 
of  the  wind  in  mountainous  old  flowering  chestnuts, 
and^^once  in  seven  days  the  voice  of  the  bell  and  the  old 
tunes  of  the  precentor,  were  the  only  sounds  that  dis- 
turbed the  silence  around  the  rural  church.  The  Resur- 
rection Man  —  to  use  a  byname  of  the  period  —  was 
not  to  be  deterred  by  any  of  the  sanctities  of  customary 
piety.  It  was  part  of  his  trade  to  despise  and  desecrate 
the  scrolls  and  trumpets  of  old  tombs,  the  paths  worn 
by  the  feet  of  worshippers  and  mourners,  and  the  offer- 
ings  and  the  inscriptions  of  bereaved  affection.  To  rus- 
tic neighbourhoods,  where  love  is  more  than  commonly 

424 


THE   BODY-SNATCHER 

tenacious,  and  where  some  bonds  of  blood  or  fellowship 
unite  the  entire  society  of  a  parish,  the  body-snatcher, 
far  from  being  repelled  by  natural  respect,  was  attracted 
by  the  ease  and  safety  of  the  task.  To  bodies  that  had 
been  laid  in  earth,  in  joyful  expectation  of  a  far  different 
awakening,  there  came  that  hasty,  lamp-lit,  terror- 
haunted  resurrection  of  the  spade  and  mattock.  The 
coffin  was  forced,  the  cerements  torn,  and  the  melan- 
choly relics,  clad  in  sackcloth,  after  being  rattled  for 
hours  on  moonless  byways,  were  at  length  exposed  to 
uttermost  indignities  before  a  class  of  gaping  boys. 

Somewhat  as  two  vultures  may  swoop  upon  a  dying 
Iamb,  Fettes  and  Macfarlane  were  to  be  let  loose  upon 
a  grave  in  that  green  and  quiet  resting-place.  The  wife 
of  a  farmer,  a  woman  who  had  lived  for  sixty  years,  and 
been  known  for  nothing  but  good  butter  and  a  godly 
conversation,  was  to  be  rooted  from  her  grave  at  mid- 
night and  carried,  dead  and  naked,  to  that  far-away 
city  that  she  had  always  honoured  with  her  Sunday's 
best;  the  place  beside  her  family  was  to  be  empty  till 
the  crack  of  doom ;  her  innocent  and  almost  venerable 
members  to  be  exposed  to  that  last  curiosity  of  the 
anatomist. 

Late  one  afternoon  the  pair  set  forth,  well  wrapped 
in  cloaks  and  furnished  with  a  formidable  bottle.  It 
rained  without  remission  —  a  cold,  dense,  lashing  rain. 
Now  and  again  there  blew  a  puff  of  wind,  but  these 
sheets  of  falling  water  kept  it  down.  Bottle  and  all,  it 
was  a  sad  and  silent  drive  as  far  as  Penicuik,  where 
they  were  to  spend  the  evening.  They  stopped  once, 
to  hide  their  implements  in  a  thick  bush  not  far  from 
the  churchyard,  and  once  again  at  the  Fisher's  Tryst,  to 

425 


THE   BODY-SNATCHER 

have  a  toast  before  the  kitchen  fire  and  vary  their  nips 
of  whisky  with  a  glass  of  ale.  When  they  reached 
their  journey's  end  the  gig  was  housed,  the  horse  was 
fed  and  comforted,  and  the  two  young  doctors  in  a 
private  room  sat  down  to  the  best  dinner  and  the  best 
wine  the  house  afforded.  The  lights,  the  fire,  the  beat- 
ing  rain  upon  the  window,  the  cold,  incongruous  work 
that  lay  before  them,  added  zest  to  their  enjoyment  of  the 
meal.  With  every  glass  their  cordiality  increased.  Soon 
Macfarlane  handed  a  little  pile  of  gold  to  his  companion. 

'  'A  compliment, "  he  said.  '  'Between  friends  these  little 
d d  accommodations  ought  to  fly  like  pipe-lights." 

Fettes  pocketed  the  money,  and  applauded  the  senti- 
ment to  the  echo.     "You  are  a  philosopher,"  he  cried. 

"  I  was  an  ass  till  I  knew  you.    You  and  K between 

you,  by  the  Lord  Harry!  but  you'll  make  a  man  of  me." 

"Of  course,  we  shall,"  applauded  Macfarlane.  "A 
man  ?  I  tell  you,  it  required  a  man  to  back  me  up  the 
other  morning.  There  are  some  big,  brawling,  forty- 
year-old  cowards  who  would  have  turned  sick  at  the 

look  of  the  d d  thing;  but  not  you  —  you  kept  your 

head.     I  watched  you." 

"Well,  and  why  not.^"  Fettes  thus  vaunted  him- 
self. "It  was  no  affair  of  mine.  There  was  nothing 
to  gain  on  the  one  side  but  disturbance,  and  on  the 
other  I  could  count  on  your  gratitude,  don't  you  see  ?  " 
And  he  slapped  his  pocket  till  the  gold  pieces  rang. 

Macfarlane  somehow  felt  a  certain  touch  of  alarm  at 
these  unpleasant  words.  He  may  have  regretted  that 
he  had  taught  his  young  companion  so  successfully, 
but  he  had  no  time  to  interfere,  for  the  other  noisily 
continued  in  this  boastful  strain : 

426 


THE   BODY-SNATCHER 

**  The  great  thing  is  not  to  be  afraid.  Now,  between 
you  and  me,  I  don't  want  to  hang — that's  practical;  but 
for  all  cant,  Macfarlane,  I  was  born  with  a  contempt. 
Hell,  God,  Devil,  right,  wrong,  sin,  crime,  and  all  the 
old  gallery  of  curiosities  —  they  may  frighten  boys,  but 
men  of  the  world,  like  you  and  me,  despise  them. 
Here's  to  the  memory  of  Gray!  " 

It  was  by  this  time  growing  somewhat  late.  The 
gig,  according  to  order,  was  brought  round  to  the  door 
with  both  lamps  brightly  shining,  and  the  young  men 
had  to  pay  their  bill  and  take  the  road.  They  an- 
nounced that  they  were  bound  for  Peebles,  and  drove 
in  that  direction  till  they  were  clear  of  the  last  houses 
of  the  town ;  then,  extinguishing  the  lamps,  returned 
upon  their  course,  and  followed  a  by-road  toward  Glen- 
corse.  There  was  no  sound  but  that  of  their  own  pas- 
sage, and  the  incessant,  strident  pouring  of  the  rain. 
It  was  pitch  dark;  here  and  there  a  white  gate  or  a 
white  stone  in  the  wall  guided  them  for  a  short  space 
across  the  night ;  but  for  the  most  part  it  was  at  a  foot 
pace,  and  almost  groping,  that  they  picked  their  way 
through  that  resonant  blackness  to  their  solemn  and  iso- 
lated destination.  In  the  sunken  woods  that  traverse 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  burying-ground  the  last  glim- 
mer failed  them,  and  it  became  necessary  to  kindle  a 
match  and  reillumine  one  of  the  lanterns  of  the  gig. 
Thus,  under  the  dripping  trees,  and  environed  by  huge 
and  moving  shadows,  they  reached  the  scene  of  their 
unhallowed  labours. 

They  were  both  experienced  in  such  affairs,  and  pow- 
erful with  the  spade ;  and  they  had  scarce  been  twenty 
minutes  at  their  task  before  they  were  rewarded  by  a 

427 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

dull  rattle  on  the  coffin  lid.  At  the  same  moment  Mac- 
farlane,  having  hurt  his  hand  upon  a  stone,  flung  it 
carelessly  above  his  head.  The  grave,  in  which  they 
now  stood  almost  to  the  shoulders,  was  close  to  the 
edge  of  the  plateau  of  the  graveyard;  and  the  gig  lamp 
had  been  propped,  the  better  to  illuminate  their  labours, 
against  a  tree,  and  on  the  immediate  verge  of  the  steep 
bank  descending  to  the  stream.  Chance  had  taken  a 
sure  aim  with  the  stone.  Then  came  a  clang  of  broken 
glass;  night  fell  upon  them;  sounds  alternately  dull 
and  ringing  announced  the  bounding  of  the  lantern 
down  the  bank,  and  its  occasional  collision  with  the 
trees.  A  stone  or  two,  which  it  had  dislodged  in  its 
descent,  rattled  behind  it  into  the  profundities  of  the  glen ; 
and  then  silence,  like  night,  resumed  its  sway;  and  they 
might  bend  their  hearing  to  its  utmost  pitch,  but  naught 
was  to  be  heard  except  the  rain,  now  marching  to  the 
wind,  now  steadily  falling  over  miles  of  open  country. 

They  were  so  nearly  at  an  end  of  their  abhorred  task 
that  they  judged  it  wisest  to  complete  it  in  the  dark. 
The  coffm  was  exhumed  and  broken  open;  the  body 
inserted  in  the  dripping  sack  and  carried  between  them 
to  the  gig ;  one  mounted  to  keep  it  in  its  place,  and  the 
other,  taking  the  horse  by  the  mouth,  groped  along  by 
wall  and  bush  until  they  reached  the  wider  road  by  the 
Fisher's  Tryst.  Here  was  a  faint,  diffused  radiancy, 
which  they  hailed  like  daylight;  by  that  they  pushed  the 
horse  to  a  good  pace  and  began  to  rattle  along  merrily 
in  the  direction  of  the  town. 

They  had  both  been  wetted  to  the  skin  during  their 
operations,  and  now,  as  the  gig  jumped  among  the  deep 
ruts,  the  thing  that  stood  propped  between  them  fell 

428 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

now  upon  one  and  now  upon  the  other.  At  every 
repetition  of  the  horrid  contact  each  instinctively  re- 
pelled it  with  the  greater  haste;  and  the  process,  natural 
although  it  was,  began  to  tell  upon  the  nerves  of  the 
companions.  Macfarlane  made  some  ill-favoured  jest 
about  the  farmer's  wife,  but  it  came  hollowly  from  his 
lips,  and  was  allowed  to  drop  in  silence.  Still  their  un- 
natural burden  bumped  from  side  to  side;  and  now  the 
head  would  be  laid,  as  if  in  confidence,  upon  their 
shoulders,  and  now  the  drenching  sackcloth  would  flap 
icily  about  their  faces.  A  creeping  chill  began  to  possess 
the  soul  of  Fettes.  He  peered  at  the  bundle,  and  it 
seemed  somehow  larger  than  at  first.  All  over  the 
country-side,  and  from  every  degree  of  distance,  the 
farm  dogs  accompanied  their  passage  with  tragic  ulula- 
tions ;  and  it  grew  and  grew  upon  his  mind  that  some 
unnatural  miracle  had  been  accomplished,  that  some 
nameless  change  had  befallen  the  dead  body,  and  that 
it  was  in  fear  of  their  unholy  burden  that  the  dogs  were 
howling. 

**For  God's  sake,"  said  he,  making  a  great  effort  to 
arrive  at  speech,  *'for  God's  sake,  let's  have  a  light!" 

Seemingly  Macfarlane  was  affected  in  the  same  direc- 
tion; for,  though  he  made  no  reply,  he  stopped  the 
horse,  passed  the  reins  to  his  companion,  got  down, 
and  proceeded  to  kindle  the  remaining  lamp.  They  had 
by  that  time  got  no  farther  than  the  cross-road  down  to 
Auchenclinny.  The  rain  still  poured  as  though  the  del- 
uge were  returning,  and  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  make 
a  light  in  such  a  world  of  wet  and  darkness.  When  at 
last  the  flickering  blue  flame  had  been  transferred  to  the 
wick  and  began  to  expand  and  clarify,  and  shed  a  wide 

429 


THE  BODY-SNATCHER 

circle  of  misty  brightness  round  the  gig,  it  became  pos- 
sible for  the  two  young  men  to  see  each  other  and  the 
thing  they  had  along  with  them.  The  rain  had  moulded 
the  rough  sacking  to  the  outlines  of  the  body  under- 
neath ;  the  head  was  distinct  from  the  trunk,  the  shoul- 
ders plainly  modelled;  something  at  once  spectral  and 
human  riveted  their  eyes  upon  the  ghastly  comrade  of 
their  drive. 

For  some  time  Macfarlane  stood  motionless,  holding 
up  the  lamp.  A  nameless  dread  was  swathed,  like  a 
wet  sheet,  about  the  body,  and  tightened  the  white  skin 
upon  the  face  of  Fettes ;  a  fear  that  was  meaningless,  a 
horror  of  what  could  not  be,  kept  mounting  to  his  brain. 
Another  beat  of  the  watch,  and  he  had  spoken.  But 
his  comrade  forestalled  him. 

*'  That  is  not  a  woman,"  said  Macfarlane,  in  a  hushed 
voice. 

*'  It  was  a  woman  when  we  put  her  in,"  whispered 
Fettes. 

'  'Hold  that  lamp,  "said  the  other.  *  *  I  must  see  herface. " 

And  as  Fettes  took  the  lamp  his  companion  untied  the 
fastenings  of  the  sack  and  drew  down  the  cover  from  the 
head.  The  light  fell  very  clear  upon  the  dark,  well- 
moulded  features  and  smooth-shaven  cheeks  of  a  too 
familiar  countenance,  often  beheld  in  dreams  of  both  of 
these  young  men.  A  wild  yell  rang  up  into  the  night; 
each  leaped  from  his  own  side  into  the  roadway;  the 
lamp  fell,  broke,  and  was  extinguished ;  and  the  horse, 
terrified  by  this  unusual  commotion,  bounded  and  went 
off  toward  Edinburgh  at  a  gallop,  bearing  along  with  it, 
sole  occupant  of  the  gig,  the  body  of  the  dead  and  long- 
dissected  Gray. 

430 


